“The Battle of Monmouth took place on June 28, 1778, the longest single-day fight of the war. Stirling’s men were on the left flank, General Greene’s were on the right, and Mad Anthony Wayne’s were in the center. There’s George Washington, charging up the middle, leading the attack. See?”
Julia looked over as a man dressed as George Washington appeared on a white horse. The Continental soldiers surged forward, shouting. The crowd reacted, cheering and applauding.
“Washington lost his temper at General Lee and relieved Lee of his command, then and there.” Herman pointed at the field. “Here they go.”
Julia pretended to watch as General Washington reached General Lee on horseback, shouting. The soldiers stopped, play-acting surprise. General Lee trotted away on his horse, hanging his head. The spectators hooted and clapped.
“Now he’s going to bring on General Lafayette from France. Hewas only twenty years old and didn’t speak much English, but he inspired the men.”
Julia’s thoughts raced. She had to get over to the staging area. A trailer of Port-A-Johns was parked on the right side of the plateau, halfway to the staging area. It would put her close enough to Glushenko and the militia to get some good pictures.
“The Battle of Monmouth was a draw, but we proved that we were able to take on the British and win. We claim victory because of Washington’s bravery and the bravery of our men. It was his finest moment, in my opinion.”
“That’s fascinating. Excuse me, I think I see a ladies’ room. I’ll be right back.” Julia lowered the binoculars. “May I keep these, just in case?”
47
Julia walked to the end of the plateau and turned left toward the trailer of Port-A-Johns. Families milled everywhere, and she threaded her way to the restroom trailer, giving her a better view of the staging area. There was a long line of women waiting to use the bathroom, and for once in her life, she didn’t mind.
Julia joined the line, raised the binoculars, and scanned the staging area, facing the field to avoid suspicion. She had a good peripheral view and saw the Buckley cruiser, then kept looking for Glushenko and the militia.
Suddenly she spotted Glushenko in profile, talking to a smaller group of militiamen. She counted four of them, two with their backs to her and two facing her. The brims of their caps shaded their faces.
Julia moved with the line, watching Glushenko and the foursome through the binoculars. Her view kept getting obstructed by men leading horses or carrying drums, oranges, and water.
She moved again, keeping her eyes on the men. There was morechatter around her as she got closer to the restroom, and she tuned in to two young women ahead of her in line.
“You’re going to Blaine’s with me after?” one asked the other.
“Why, so you can hook up with Laird?”
“Whatever, Tom will be there. They all will.”
“Oh, themilitia? Miss me with those losers.”
Julia made a mental note, left the restroom line, and edged closer to the staging side. The area buzzed with activity, and she raised the binoculars to her eyes, looking for Glushenko. Reenactors checked their muskets and talked in groups as they waited to go on. She couldn’t see Glushenko because they kept blocking her view.
She kept edging to the staging area, glad to have the binoculars covering her face in case Glushenko spotted her. Finally, she spotted him in profile, his arms folded as he talked to the four men. Quickly she lowered the binoculars, grabbed her phone, scrolled to the photo function, and found Glushenko and the foursome.
Julia started taking pictures, then enlarged the screen so she got a better view of their faces. She snapped a few more pictures, then realized that one of the two militiamen facing her looked familiar. He had brownish hair and was older than she’d seen him in the photo at the clubhouse, when he was only a teenager, or even back at college, when he’d told her his name was Matt Winger.
The man was Patrick Novak.
Oh my God.Julia’s mouth went dry. Her heart started to pound. She’d never expected to see him here. Novak could be the missing link, tying McKenna of thirty years ago to the present, connecting Shoemaker’s murder to Kay’s.
Julia looked around for McKenna, but she didn’t see him nearGlushenko, Novak, or the other militiamen. She didn’t know if he was still alive, and if so, it would be too brazen for him to surface in Buckley, where he was supposedly wanted for murder.
Julia took a few more pictures, pocketed her phone, and raised the binoculars to her face before Glushenko happened to look in her direction. Her view of Novak was blocked by passing people, but then she spotted parked cars shifting behind the staging area. A black pickup came suddenly into view.
Holy shit.Julia didn’t know if it was the same black pickup that had tried to run them off the road. She couldn’t see from here if it had a flag sticker on the back window. The pickup was parked among the others behind the staging area.
Julia looked through the binoculars, her thoughts flying. She was so tempted to go over to the staging area and see if it was the same pickup truck. She could get better pictures of Glushenko and Novak from a closer vantage point.
Julia remembered Bennie’s warning, and Gianluca’s, and she wasn’t completely crazy. Glushenko, Novak, and the militiamen were dangerous. On the other hand, Courtney was behind bars for a murdertheycould have committed.
Julia spotted a vendor selling bottles of water, made a beeline for him, and bought two, figuring she’d look like somebody’s wife bringing water, like a Molly Pitcher disguise. She kept her head down and walked to the parking lot, scanning the line of cars and trucks.
The black pickup was four cars ahead, its cabin empty and its bed full of black Hefty bags that covered the back window on one side. She kept walking, then she saw it. A flag sticker on its back window.