“What does love mean to you? You gave me your word. Can’t you just stop? Can’t you listen to me, the way I listened to you?”
“No, I can’t.”
“Why not? Tell me, what are you doing right now? It’s afternoon there, isn’t it?”
“Yes, I’m going to watch a reenactment, a public event that will probably have a hundred people. There should be no danger.”
“Reenacting what?”
“The War of Independence, for the country.”
“Since when an interest in American history?”
“It’s for the case, I admit it.”
Gianluca groaned. “Who’s with you? Paul?”
“No, he’s at the prison.”
“What about the lawyer?”
“In Philadelphia. I’m alone, in the car. The lawyer’s investigator will be here Monday, but I don’t want to lose the weekend. The end is in sight, I’m trying my best to make it be.”
“Julia, please, stop now. Don’t do whatever you’re about to—”
“Just trust me.”
“I don’t trust you anymore, Julia. Idon’t. I think you knew this would happen. You just wouldn’t admit it to me.” Gianluca fell silent, and Julia realized he was partly right. She hadn’t admitted it to herself, either. She had a sudden revelation, and it was time to face it herself.
“Gianluca, I’m doing this because it’s the right thing to do, and it’s more right than all the other things I have to do. You, Leni. This is right for me, right now. You have to understand.”
“Well, Idon’tunderstand,” Gianluca said, his tone carrying a final note, like a weight.
Julia felt her gut wrench. She didn’t know if he was right, but she didn’t have time to parse her emotions. She knew what she was doing, finally in full possession of her senses, even her sixth sense. She spotted a sign for McGlinchey’s Plateau ahead. “I’m sorry, I love you, but I have to go.”
Gianluca hung up without another word.
46
Julia reached the sign for McGlinchey’s Plateau and pulled off the road into a crowded parking lot. Families were opening tailgates, taking out wheeled coolers, and slinging beach chairs over their shoulders. Kids squealed, chasing each other, and teenagers grouped together, laughing over phones.
Julia got out of the car and followed the crowd heading from the parking lot to an unpaved trail that rose through the trees, which echoed with their chatter. She guessed that Glushenko had to be here among his buddies. She wanted to get eyes on them, take their pictures, and ask enough questions to find out anything she could. Any information she could turn over to Bennie and her investigator could help the cause.
Julia popped out of the woods onto a large, sunny plateau, among a throng of about a hundred spectators. She walked up a few paces and lingered under a tree, sussing out the scene. The regiment was beginning to practice, and the plateau buzzed with activity. Menholding muskets milled on one side in navy blue jackets, tan britches, and boots, which they wore with hats, anachronistic glasses, and the random cigarette. On the other side were the British in redcoats with black hats, some marching to a drumbeat and others wiping down muskets.
Julia checked out the other side of the plateau, which was a staging area. People milled around, carrying equipment back and forth in front of parked horse trailers, cars, vans, and pickup trucks. She scanned for the black pickup, but it was too far to see.
Julia spotted an elderly man nearby wearing binoculars, so she went over to him. “Excuse me, may I borrow your binoculars?”
“Of course, I’ve seen it all before,” the man answered, with a gentle smile. “My name’s Herman Newman.”
“Thanks, Herman, I’m Julia Pritzker.” Julia accepted the binoculars and adjusted the focus to see across the plateau. She scanned the faces of the men milling around, but didn’t see Glushenko. She looked at the cars and pickups, but didn’t see a black pickup or a Buckley cruiser.
“I come to all the reenactments. I’m an expert on George Washington.”
“Really?” Julia smiled, keeping an eye on the staging area through the binoculars. There was a sudden parting of the men as a Buckley police cruiser pulled up, and she wondered if Glushenko was inside. Then it struck her that Herman could be helpful, given his age. “Herman, did you know a Bill McKenna, from about thirty, forty years ago? He was in the regiment? A realtor?”
“No, I wasn’t up here then. I lived in Roanoke. I had a horse I named Blueskin, after one of Washington’s horses. He was a good old boy. Lived till he was thirty-one.” Herman shrugged. “I live in Ashland but I come back for the reenactments. We got a big crowd todaybecause Valley Forge is too far a drive for most folks. I can fill you in on what’s going on, if you want to know.”
