Sleepy Hollow: Children of the Revolution by Keith R.A. DeCandido Read Free Book Online Page A

a lead from one of our CIs that somebody might be targeting those crosses.”
    “How—oh, right, suburbs. ’Course you got CIswho can give you intel on art heists. Probably know which wineries are being targeted, too, right?”
    Abbie recognized the stalling tactic. “Ms. Nugent, this is Lieutenant Mills. Captain Irving told us that the crosses were out for cleaning, but I’m guessing by your use of the term ‘art heist’ that the cleaning thing is just for the general public?”
    “Score one for the suburban cop. Look, Frank, I can’t have this getting out. We’ve kept the press, NYPD, and FBI out of it, but—”
    That got Abbie’s eyes to go wide. “You didn’t report it?”
    “Not
yet
—we think it was someone inside, and we want to try to take care of it internally first. If that doesn’t pan out, I’ll go down to the one-nine myself and fill out the report.”
    Crane gave Abbie another of his patented confused looks, and he mouthed,
one nine?
    Abbie held up a hand to indicate that she’d explain later that Nugent was referring to the 19th Precinct of the NYPD, which included the Metropolitan in its domain. She did that a lot.…
    “Don’t worry, Beth, Lieutenant Mills and Mr. Crane are part of a classified task force. They aren’t gonna be talking to
anybody
about any of this.” Irving punctuated that with a look at each of them. Crane looked nonplussed, but Abbie just gave the captain her
are you serious?
look.
    “All right,” Nugent said, “let me finish up our investigationhere. Give me two days, and if I haven’t nailed anything down, I’ll take a drive up the Saw Mill Parkway, and we’ll compare notes.”
    “Sounds like a plan. Thanks, Beth.”
    “Miss Nugent, this is Ichabod Crane.”
    Abbie winced. It was always dangerous when Crane started talking to people who weren’t part of the craziness.
    “Yeah, the consultant. Nice accent.”
    “Er, thank you. I have a query regarding the crosses. By what means did they come into your museum’s possession?”
    “Both of them were gifted to the museum about a hundred years ago by descendants of the original owners. It was van Brunt’s grand-nephew and Willett’s great-grandson or some such. I could look it up if you want.”
    “No need. My thanks.”
    Irving reached for the phone. “Thanks again, Beth. We’ll talk soon.”
    “You bet. And give that kid of yours a kiss on the head from her old aunt Beth, ’kay?”
    Irving smiled. “Will do. Take care.” He ended the call.
    Crane turned his confused look on Irving. “In the early stages of your conversation, I feared that this Miss Nugent was a great enemy of yours.”
    Abbie was startled by Irving laughing in response to that. Irving hardly even smiled, much lesslaughed, to the point where she wouldn’t be able to swear on a Bible that Irving had teeth.
    “Yeah,” the captain said, “I can see why you’d think that.”
    “I imagine that your verbal japes derive from the time you spent humping with your radio car?”
    Now it was Abbie’s turn to laugh. “Great, now we’ve got him mangling cop slang. We’re doomed.”

FIVE
T ARRYTOWN , N EW Y ORK

    JANUARY 2014
    CAROLYN TOLLEY HAD no idea how her life had been reduced to working as a security guard in the Cortlandt Museum in Tarrytown.
    It seemed like it was just yesterday that she was working a high-paying job at a money management firm on Hudson Street, with a beautiful apartment on the Upper West Side, the best husband in the world, and a wonderful son.
    With Jamal doing well in high school and about to go off to college, she and Greg had been looking into houses in Tarrytown, Sleepy Hollow, Hastings-on-Hudson, and other locations in the Lower Hudson Valley. They’d even put a down payment on a place in Hastings.
    But then Greg got laid off. And then his unemployment ran out without any job prospects. A lotof close calls, but nothing solid. The bank withdrew the approval of their mortgage because of Greg’s