Rollo was huge. Standing on his hind legs, he was nearly six feet tall and dwarfed most men. He was one of the largest of his breed she had ever seen.
“Rollo, yes. He might well scare the common car thief,” Purbeck said. “And, yeah, he’s great at what he does. He’s not a bloodhound, not even a scent hound, he’s a sight hound, but he’s always right on the money. I guess dogs have it over us.” He shrugged. “And he’s one hell of a companion. But, Mo, whoever did this is sick. Really sick. I’m no expert on nutcases—and I don’t think I have to be. This is—” He paused, searching for a better word. Apparently, he didn’t find one. “Sick,” he repeated.
Maureen nodded again. “I...I would hope that someone suffering from a serious mental problem, an illness, would be the only person who could do something so horrible,” she said. She gestured around her. “Most people come here because of Washington Irving and his short story ‘The Legend of Sleepy Hollow.’ They’re intrigued by it, they love history—and, well, they just want to see the place. But with this... Someone’s turning it into an obscene joke.”
“Yeah. Some whacked bastard out there has taken the work of the first American man of letters and twisted it into something tragic. I’m going to stop it. I refuse to let any more of this happen in our town. I’m going to track down whoever committed such a...such a dreadful crime, such a travesty—” Purbeck broke off. “I will get this bastard!” he vowed.
Maureen placed one hand on his arm. People here were extremely proud of Washington Irving, and of course the tourist trade that sustained many businesses in the village of Sleepy Hollow and in Tarrytown was due to Irving’s time-tested stories. She knew that herself. Like many who found their way to Sleepy Hollow, her parents were Irish New Yorkers who had fallen in love with the Hudson Valley. They hadn’t purchased property in the area, though. Instead, they’d rented every time they’d come for the summer or other holidays. She’d been the one to set down permanent roots here, buying a cottage down the Hudson from Irving’s Sunnyside. It had belonged to an older couple, friends of her parents, who’d gone to Arizona because of the husband’s severe asthma; they and Maureen had made a deal that was amenable to both parties, and she’d become a full-time resident. Her parents, too, had decided to retire to Scottsdale, joking that they’d never again have to shovel snow.
While she still loved the city—there was, truly, nothing like New York in the world—she’d needed to get away from the nonstop energy, the frequent chaos. And while she loved many places around the country, she’d never seen anything quite as beautiful as the Hudson Valley. Yes, areas off a few of the main roads seemed remote and very dark. But she’d bought what she considered the perfect home in Sleepy Hollow.
“And Richard Highsmith,” Purbeck said. “Lord, why?”
Neither of them had an answer for that.
Mo was hardly an expert on politics, but she’d admired Highsmith. He was that rare politician willing to stand and fight alone. He hadn’t adhered to any political party; he was an independent. He seemed to have taken the best policies and beliefs from everyone else out there. People loved him. He had plans for fiscal responsibility and he also had plans that focused on making equality part of the fabric of America.
Yes, he was loved.
But he was also hated.
And yet...
Hated this much?
“Was someone after Mr. Highsmith specifically?” Mo murmured. “Or...”
As she’d told Lieutenant Purbeck, she had to hope that only someone truly ill could have done this. Even worse—if such a thing was possible—was the chance that Richard’s murder had been random, that he’d just been taken and that...
If that were true, there could be more heads on top of horsemen who should have remained headless.
She knew Purbeck was thinking along the same lines.
“While this is going on, you might want to stay with a friend or move into a hotel,” Purbeck said to her.
“Lieutenant, we have no idea what’s going on yet,” Mo reminded him. “Highsmith was a politician. He was very likely to be voted in as New York’s next mayor. He was an independent, which means that most people loved him but that he also had enemies in the major political camps. I know—I followed him and his politics. He also had plans to run for governor at some point in the future, and a lot of people here still have homes in the city and use the Valley for escape. So...it makes sense that he was speaking here.”
Purbeck nodded. “Yep. He was special and he was different. But getting back to you... You’re in a remote area. I don’t know if Rollo, big as he is, can protect you from this kind of insanity.”
“His size scares people all the time,” Mo commented.