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  Adelaide sighed, dramatically waving a hand in the air. "I suppose I shall if I ever hope to see my trinkets again. Is he very clever, this sheriff?"

  Hart's pout sprouted into a wry smile. "I can't really tell you. He's only been in office a few months and most of that has been hunting season so we haven't seen a lot of him around town. Mostly people wanted a change from the last sheriff. A bit of a thief, he was."

  Adelaide arched an eyebrow and drew little circles on the table with her fingernail. "I see. Could someone please get me a drink? I'm not feeling well."

  Hart thrust two fingers into his mouth and let out a high-pitched whistle. The bartender scuttled to the table and took their order. Hart shrugged. "Sorry about the manners, but I'm not missing a second of this. Georgetown hasn't had this much excitement in the sum of the past ten years."

  Grant stroked his beard. "You don't have to tell us. Julia and I have already heard all about Morgan's Raiders during the war from a half dozen folks."

  Adelaide shivered. "Horrible man. Stealing from all those people to feed his troops."

  Grant eyed her. She seemed to have recovered her composure rapidly. Her color was still pearly, but she showed interest in the people at the bar, turning her head occasionally to see who entered and left the saloon. The jewels seemed an ancient worry to her. "I've done much worse than that in the name of war," Grant said.

  "Hiram Ulysses, you could never do anything evil. You were always such a darling boy."

  Hart snickered and took a sip from his glass. Grant frowned at both of them and wondered how close either of them had gotten to battle in the late war. Certainly, Hart was too young to have seen battle, and Adelaide Todd didn't seem like the type of woman interested in death and killing. He was sure a fat layer of cash had insulated her from the horrors he had seen.

  "Please call me Ulysses. Everyone does nowadays."

  "Alright then, Ulysses. Can you help me find my jewels? They were in my room when I arrived, but I haven't had a need for them since."

  Hart cleared his throat and put down his pen. "Why don't we go over to your room? We could search the scene of the crime. Maybe you misplaced them."

  Adelaide shot the reporter a look that would have mortally wounded thousands of more sensitive men. "You don't misplace a five carat diamond ring and a pearl brooch. I'm old enough to know when my jewels have been stolen."

  Without a word, Hart pushed back his chair and started towards the door. Grant could swear the young man almost skipped with glee. For his own purposes, he wanted Hart to accompany him. No use starting rumors about him visiting Adelaide's room without proper escort. Julia would never forgive him.

  The trio trudged the dirt streets to the hotel. The animal droppings were harder to avoid at night and took most of Grant's concentration to pick through. He thought he saw the hotel's freedman from the corner of his eye, but he dared not lose track of his path. As they entered the hotel, Grant saw no signs of his wife or the manager. The earlier hubbub over his arrival had evaporated and the town's favorite son could now proceed as he pleased.

  Adelaide led the way down the first floor hall to her room and pushed open the door with a flourish. The room was like his own, two windows with a view of Pleasant Street.

  The room looked like a stampede of cattle had passed through. Lady's garments burst from every nook and cranny of the room, even on top of the basin and pitcher provided for the guests. Grant guessed Adelaide was used to the company of a maid to help with these matters.

  Hart looked around the room and let out a low whistle. "Someone ransacked this room thoroughly. Is anything else missing?"

  Adelaide shook her head. "Not a thing. Just my best jewels. All of them."

  "How much were they worth?"

  "Approximately a thousand dollars, but the money's not what's important. Memories can't be replaced with mere greenbacks."

  Grant pushed some old playbills on the floor and sat down. Adelaide turned to him and smiled. "Ephraim insists I can never throw anything away, but I just adore the theater. Don't you?"

  Grant thought back to April and a certain theater where he was supposed to attend a performance with the President. A general well used to battling war-hardened soldiers would have easily wrested a pistol from a namby-pamby actor. He wondered how the Radical Republicans would have behaved with Lincoln instead of Johnson. How different would things be? "No, actually I'm not fond of plays these days."

  Hart looked at him. Grant knew the reporter guessed the reasons behind his aversion to theater. He was sharp as well as ambitious. The alcohol had not impaired his mental processes. "Well, there's not a lot more we can do here. I think you'd better notify the sheriff."

  "But won't he call Ephraim? I couldn't bear for my husband to find out." A single tear rolled down her cheek and she dabbed at it with a lace hanky.

  "Don't tell the sheriff where your husband is. Then he can't tell him."

  Adelaide smiled through her tears, sparkling like a rainbow. "Mr. Hart, you're a man after my own."

  Hart gave her a deep bow from the waist. "General Grant, if you will accompany me, I have something I want you to look at."

  Grant stood up and followed the reporter out into the hallway. "What now? I really don't want to continue your interview tonight. Can't we finish tomorrow?"

  Hart nodded. "Of course we may, but we have something else to do first thing in the morning. I'll meet you in the lobby at eight o'clock sharp. We should be able to find them then."

  Grant searched the man's face for a clue to the mission, but Hart remained stony faced.

  "Well, are you going to tell me where we're going?"

  "To retrieve Mrs. Todd's jewels."

  Chapter 7

  The following morning broke deliciously. Grant had almost forgotten the flavor of fresh eggs and slabs of bacon. Despite last night's upheavals, Mrs. Massie proved an excellent cook. The coffee was thick and black, unlike anything the Army percolated. No chicory or roots. He’d drained his third cup by the time Hart had arrived to recover Adelaide's valuables. The reporter sat down in a straightback wood chair, looking a touch unsteady on his feet with deep gray circles around the eyes. Last night’s discussion had taken a toll on them both, it appeared.

  Grant snorted. "You mean to tell me you know just where those jewels are. I thought you were a reporter, not some circus fortune-teller."

  The young man smiled and stood up with help from the chair arms. The pair made their way to the lobby and out the door. Grant squinted as they stepped out into the sparkling morning sun. Another humid October day.

  Hart looked steadier as he led Grant across the dirt-clumped streets. "I have a good hunch where they are. It's not fortune-telling. It's logic." They wound through a maze of alleys and roads that hadn't existed when Grant lived here.

  Grant tugged on his beard and palmed his smile. "So you're one of those ops, are you?"

  "Ops?"

  "Pinkerton operatives. Lincoln used those damn fools during the war, like they did a smidgen of good. He felt he owed Pinkerton. A.P. stumbled over a plot to murder him back in '60. Those men snuck him into the White House; skipped the parades and the hoopla. Made Lincoln look like a damned fool doing it though. Skulking through cities in the dead of night, like a coward."

  Hart stopped in the street and turned around to look at Grant with wide-eyes. His pen fell into a wheel rut on the street. "But they saved his life!"

  "Son, they caused him a hell of a lot of political trouble and in the end, the poor man ended up dead anyway."

  "Five years later, after he won a Civil War and freed the slaves. You're sounding a little cynical about the matter, if I might say so." Hart recovered enough to snatch his pen from the dirt and scribble something.

  Grant paused to allow a horse and rider to make their way around him. The stranger tipped his hat as he rode past. "There are those who have said I should have saved him six months ago. I was invited to Ford's Theater that night and chose not to
go." Grant cleared his throat. "Julia wasn't feeling well. I could have stopped that nancy-boy from shooting Lincoln and been a hero again."

  Hart walked back to the man and put a hand on his shoulder. "General, there's still a lot of good you can do this country. You can't let something in the past haunt you forever. Doesn't do a bit of good to lock the door once the horse is out, as my grandmother used to tell me."

  Grant shook his head. "Mebbe you're right." He looked around the street, but nothing reminded him of the town he had left twenty-five years ago. Businesses and shops had sprouted along the main dirt roads leading toward the town square. Single floor buildings of stone and whitewashed planks flanked both sides of the street. Construction seemed to be a thriving concern here. Perhaps he should campaign on an economic platform instead of a victorious war record. That had seemed an easy road to election. Would the country still remember his contributions in three years?

  Grant struggled to locate the landmarks of his youth. How could he take a trip down memory lane when he didn't know the roads? He did realize they had moved away from the town's center. "So exactly where are we going?"

  Hart pointed to the corner of Main and Third. "Just over there."

  "And you think that store has Adelaide's gewgaws?" They crossed another dusty street and headed towards the brick and wood building. Grant recognized the three balls over the doorframe and nodded.

  "General, Washington might have a lot of criminals and ways to dispose of stolen property, but here in Georgetown, a man who needs cash has one place to go and that's the pawnshop." Hart opened the door for him and let Grant enter. "And Jacob Vance owns the only one in town."

  Grant squinted to discern the darkened interior of the store, the sun hatched by the metal bars across the front window. The owner obviously took precautions against trouble. A rifle hung across the back wall, a canopy to a glass case of jewelry. The other two walls held displays of guns and ammunition along with a few military-issue sabers, all Federal issue. For a small community, plenty of gold and silver sparkled in the velvet trays along the back wall, encircling the jewelry. The owner cared for his treasures. Even with the sun hitting the cases, no dust glistened on the glass.

  As the pair searched the cases, Grant noticed muddy bare footprints on the plank flooring. Not everything in town was growth and construction obviously. The store carried the stench of those people whose sweat had not been enough to stave off debts.

  A small man who Grant assumed to be Vance entered from the next room and approached the cases from the other side. He was older than Grant had guessed from a distance, his thin auburn hair masked by his florid scalp. The red lines across the nose and cheeks signaled a drinker and the bloodshot eyes confirmed the General's guess. Grant recognized the proprietor from the saloon last night. He looked like he had fared far worse than either he or Hart, even though he looked well practiced.

  "Well, I didn't think I'd be getting a personal visit from the likes of you, Lieutenant General Grant." The man pronounced the word, "Loo-tenant". The title raised Grant's hackles as he was reminded of his less than commanding status. Even Washington wasn’t willing to give him his full due with that final star. Why should Georgetown treat him any better? "What brings you to my humble establishment? It would be an honor to barter with you. I'm sure I could fetch a good price for something what belonged to a real hero."

  Vance pulled out a pair of spectacles and settled them on the end of his nose.

  "I'm not here to sell anything. I have sufficient funds for my trip."

  "Wanting to buy, then? I have some nice stuff." He unlocked a cabinet with an oversized brass key ring and pulled out a velvet tray. Vance set the rows of brooches and bracelets on the glass and stood back. "What do you think of these?"

  Grant opened his mouth to speak, but Hart nudged him in the ribs and stepped in front of him. "That's right. The general is looking to buy special for his wife, a ring perhaps."

  "I didn't —" Grant didn't finish his sentence as Hart stepped on his foot. Ambrose shot him a look that spoke of a plan. Grant deferred to the reporter's knowledge of small town machinations more than his own faded memories.

  "What size finger are we looking for?" The man grinned to reveal a gold tooth.

  "Size six and Mrs. Grant is very partial to garnet. Would you have any?" Hart pursed his lips up into such a frown that Grant decided to let him do all the talking. Hart was still operating under his own counsel, but Grant knew he had something in mind.

  Vance nodded, wisps of red hair falling over his brow. He headed towards the back room again. "You're in luck. Just got a ring like that yesterday." He disappeared from view.

  Grant eyed at the reporter. "How did you know Julia's ring size?"

  Hart smiled and tapped the pencil to his temple. "I don't, but I did ask Mrs. Todd her ring size and a description of one of the stolen items before we left. I had an idea we'd find it here."

  Grant excused his lapse of intuition as he made a noise in his throat. Hart hadn't been muddled by finding a body on his bed or encountering his first love again or looking for indications that he should run for president, so his thoughts ran as clear as White Oak Creek. Grant’s own thoughts were as scattered as buckshot.

  Vance returned cradling a ring with a blood red stone. He placed it gently on the counter and watched as Grant examined it. The general turned the ring over and the stone sparkled with light. "Just got this in?"

  "Yesterday. The man who brought it in will be sorry that someone else bought it." Vance smiled again and flashed the gold tooth.

  "Man? I would have thought a woman would have brought this in." Hart looked at the ring and wrote something down on his paper. He flipped the pages as he looked up so Grant couldn't read his latest thoughts.

  "Nope, ‘twas a man. I still know what a woman looks like and this weren't one. Said his wife had passed away and he was getting rid of all her fineries. Painful memories and such."

  "You didn't recognize him."

  Vance shook his head. "Weren't a local. Might have been from out Felicity way. He looked a touch like the Connor folk, but I'd never set eyes on him before."

  Hart flipped through the pages of his notebook. He stopped on a particular page and held it over the counter for Vance. "Does this look like the man who came in here?"

  Vance squinted through the spectacles and slipped his tongue between his lips. "Could be. Looks like the fellow. Except for that there black spot on his forehead. He didn't have one of those."

  Hart snapped the book shut and looked at Grant. "That's the man in your room." To Vance, he turned and smiled. He brushed casually at the sketch. "That's just a smudge on the paper. What else did this fellow bring into the store?"

  Vance left again and came back within seconds carrying a load of jewelry. "All this. Quite a haul."

  "I suppose. How much did you give him for all this?"

  The shopkeeper picked up a gold bracelet, dangling it by the clasp, a contrast to his dirty fingers and blackened nails. He smiled with the appreciation of a man who enjoyed his work. Grant had seen that expression on the faces of some of his former business partners. His father beamed at the thought of a bargain. Grant felt joy in a campaign well fought, not dollars and cents. Still, there were only so many chances for war and he didn’t wish for one more.

  "Can't rightly tell you that, can I? Then you'd know what I paid for the ring. Wouldn't make bargaining a fair thing, would it?"

  Grant pondered the man and wondered how he could get out of here with a full wallet. Hart's investigation could end up costing a small fortune if the man kept depending on him for drinks, food, and expensive baubles. He knew enough about the fair sex not to dream of offering one of Adelaide's jewels to Julia. He couldn’t return it to Adelaide without facing a set-to with Julia. That meant Verity would likely end up with the gem, the man in town least likely to appreciate it. "This is a matter for Sheriff Verity. Maybe we should go."

  "That's not necessary. I'd be
happy to help." Vance's eyes widened and the gold tooth chewed on his bottom lip. "I paid four hundred for the lot of it. ‘Twas a good deal for me. Probably can get a thousand or more if I can find the right buyer for it." He leaned over the glass case, so Grant could almost taste the day old whiskey. "Like maybe a fancy New Yawk man and his lady."

  Grant allowed himself to smile into his beard. Drunk or not the man never stopped trying to sell. "I'm just a local boy, Mr. Vance. Just like you."

  Hart picked up a brooch and held it to the light. He turned it over and looked at the initials engraved on the silver, ADT in a cursive scroll. "Did the man who sold you this offer a name?"

  "Sure enough. I run a legiti-mite business here. I keep track of all my transactions and make the buyers and sellers sign my log here." He pulled an oversized leather ledger from beneath the counter and held it out for the men. "I can tell you in a minute."

  "We never accused you of anything else, sir." Grant said after clearing his throat. Hart flipped open his pad again and rifled the yellowed pages.

  "And I thank you kindly not to." Vance ran a chubby finger down the page. "Let's see. He brought them in yesterday and that was the —”

  "Yesterday?" Hart fumbled with the pad for a second and looked up again. "These weren't reported stolen until this afternoon."

  Vance started collecting the pile of jewels into his lap. "I don't know nothing about stolen jewelry. I run an honest store and I've never had no complaints from the law about it. You can ask old Verity hisself."

  Hart sighed and threw the brooch on top of the rest of the jewels. "So did you find his name?"

  "I could do better for you if you weren't accusing me of thieving. The man's name was Thomas Mathers. He signed his name and everything." Grant looked at the page, but only saw a scribbled mark for the purported name. The scrawl could be anything from Mathers to Julia Grant.

  "Was there a diamond ring in the lot he brought in? The woman who — lost these was very fond of a diamond ring given to her by her husband."