Between a Book and a Hard Place (17 page)

“It is quite a jaunt.” I shrugged. “Would you like to join us until they arrive?”

“No, thanks.” She checked the time again. “They should be here any minute.”

“How are things at the club?” Noah asked. “I wasn't able to make the last meeting.”

Noah was a member of so many boards, I sometimes wondered how he managed them all.

“That's what I wanted to talk to you about. We had a bit of a problem the other night.” Kiara tapped the toe of her high-heeled pump. “That professor investigating the alien sightings burst into the ballroom during our monthly dinner dance, claiming that everyone needed to come outside and use their collective energy to help him communicate with the extraterrestrials.”

“What happened?” I asked. Chief Kincaid would blow a gasket if this guy kept bothering people.

“Our security guard escorted him out of the building,” Kiara answered. “He was told that if he returned we'd call the police.”

“Has he been back?” I asked, noticing that the event coordinator seemed nervous.

“Not exactly.” Kiara fingered the stack of gold bangles on her right wrist. “However, I did receive a
phone call from one of our members asking that we allow the professor access to our grounds. I told her I'd have to take the issue to the board.”

“That's the correct procedure.” Noah seemed perplexed that the event planner was discussing it with him now. “Which member made that request?”

“Your mother.”

“Oh.” Noah rolled his eyes at me, then said to Kiara, “Please disregard Mom's call. I'll speak to her and take care of the matter.”

“Thank you, Doctor.”

The three of us were silent for a few seconds; then Kiara noticed a couple entering the restaurant and said, “I think that's my bride and groom.” She fluttered her fingers and said, “Have a nice lunch.”

After Kiara left, our waitress served our wine and took our food orders. Noah and I decided to share the olive oil crostini with pimento cheese, rosemary deviled ham, and pickled shrimp spreads, but while he selected the Monte Cristo Panini for his main course, I went for the Frutti di Mare, a combination of campanelle pasta, bay scallops, shrimps, and mussels in a corvina and tomato cognac cream sauce. For the kind of money the restaurant was charging, I wasn't eating a fancy grilled cheese and ham sandwich. Gran would be happy to cook that for me anytime.

The food was delicious, but I could tell Noah was worried about something.

As we finished our coffee, he said, “I really need to figure out who is riling Nadine up about the aliens. Do you think it's that professor?”

“I doubt it.” I set my cup down. “He's not at all attractive or charismatic. Unless, of course, he's from old family money.”

“Who else could it be?” Noah signaled the server for our check.

“No clue.” I toyed with my spoon while I thought about who would be able to influence Nadine. “Maybe it's one of her CDM friends.”

“There are one or two who get involved in some weird causes.” Noah wiped his mouth on his napkin and sat back. “You know how it is. Too much time and money on their hands and husbands or children who neglect them.”

“Maybe you could make some calls,” I suggested. “I can keep an ear out in the store for any sign of who might believe in ET.”

“Let me know if you hear anything.” Noah took care of the bill.

We walked back to where we'd parked and Noah helped me into the Jag, then headed the car back to Shadow Bend. Noah was clearly still concerned about his mother's interest in the professor.

After several miles of silence, I joked, “Maybe it was the aliens who killed my stepfather.”

“Right.” Noah snickered. “Try selling that theory to Chief Kincaid.”

A
s we parked in front of Miss Ophelia's, I admired the modest turret-covered front porch. Unlike most of the more elaborate Victorian homes built in Shadow Bend during the nineteenth century, this house's stick and spindle work was minimal, but the irregular roofline classified it as a Queen Anne.

We walked up a short flight of steps to the front porch, and I admired the four white posts with their gingerbread trim supporting the arched roof. The pale yellow exterior was in pristine condition, but the period feeling of the house had been retained.

Miss Ophelia answered the doorbell, and after Noah explained our visit, she invited us inside. We followed the tiny old woman as she led us into the hallway and then waved us into the parlor.

Slowly seating herself on a gorgeous Heywood-Wakefield wicker chair, she gestured to the carved mahogany rope-twist settee across from her and said, “Please make yourselves comfortable.”

“You have a lovely home.” Although I had attended etiquette classes here, the students always entered through the back door. We then used the rear staircase to access the second-story classroom
and dance studio. We were never allowed anywhere on the main floor. Miss Ophelia's personal living space was strictly off-limits, and we'd all been too terrified of her to test that rule.

“Thank you. It's all original to the house.” Miss Ophelia's straight spine never touched the back of her chair. “It's exactly as my great-great-great-grandmother decorated it a century and a half ago. Her husband had everything shipped from New York.”

“Impressive.” I gazed at the Oriental carpet and the flocked wallpaper, neither of which showed any indication of wear.

“May I get you something to drink?” Miss Ophelia asked. “I was about to put the kettle on for a pot of tea when you arrived.”

Noah glanced at me, then answered for us both. “No, thank you. We just had a wonderful lunch at Webster House in Kansas City.”

“An extremely fine establishment.” Miss Ophelia smiled. “Or so I've been told. I no longer travel into the city.” She inclined her head. “Now, you indicated an interest in Shadow Bend's part in the Civil War. Is there any specific event you'd like to discuss?”

“Yes.” Noah's leg nudged mine as he said, “The information we're most concerned with would involve the ancestors of local families.”

“Ah.” Miss Ophelia folded her hands. “Anyone in particular?”

“Folks who are still living in the area,” I said. “Especially current members of the Confederate Daughters of Missouri.”

“I see.” Miss Ophelia shot me a sharp glance, then asked Noah, “What has your mother gotten herself involved with this time?”

“I hope nothing.” Noah sighed. “Although if you know why she's suddenly fascinated with aliens, I'd love to hear about it.”

“Nadine rarely speaks to me.” Miss Ophelia's thin lips curled slightly. “She finds my insistence on facts rather than gossip boring. And she has yet to realize that to acquire knowledge, one must first admit one doesn't already know everything.”

Although I agreed with Miss Ophelia's assessment of Nadine's character, I was anxious to get down to business and asked, “Are you aware of any controversy regarding any of Shadow Bend's Civil War heroes?”

“As you are undoubtedly aware from your high school state history class, Missouri sent men and supplies to both sides of the conflict.” Miss Ophelia crossed her ankles, evidently settling in for a long story. “We had separate governments that represented each side. And Missourians fought over it, neighbors against neighbors and brothers against brothers.”

“Was that the case in Shadow Bend?” Noah asked. “Were we a community divided, or were most of the townsfolks firmly Confederate?”

Miss Ophelia ignored his question and continued her lesson. “Missouri supplied more than thirty thousand troops to the Confederate army and approximately a hundred and ten thousand to the Union.”

“Did Shadow Bend families send many of our men to the Union side?” I asked.

My question didn't fare any better than Noah's had, and the elderly woman continued her lecture without deigning to acknowledge it.

“There was fighting all over our state.”

When she paused, Noah opened his mouth, but before he could speak, she said, “The best estimates that I've read indicate that twelve hundred separate battles and skirmishes were fought in Missouri.” As Miss Ophelia shook her head, her snow-white chignon gleamed in the sunlight coming through the front window. “Only two other states saw more fighting than Missouri—Virginia and Tennessee.”

“Wow.” I vaguely recalled learning those details in school, but at that time, they hadn't made much of an impression.

Miss Ophelia seemed almost to be talking to herself as she continued. “The first major battle west of the Mississippi River took place at Wilson's Creek, Missouri, and the largest conflict west of the Mississippi River was the Battle of Westport at Kansas City.”

“Very interesting, Miss Ophelia.” Noah leaned forward and touched her hand. “But is there anything more specific to Shadow Bend?”

“There were two skirmishes in this area,” Miss Ophelia answered, appearing to refocus. “In the first, the Union troops outnumbered our local regiment by about three to one and easily routed them. Casualties were extremely heavy, and there were many fatalities. The deaths and loss of limbs of so many of our young men stirred up a lot of strong feelings among the townspeople who, up until then, had been less than passionate about the war.”

“And the second battle?” I asked, gathering that that encounter was the more complicated and thus more relevant to our situation.

“The second was later in the war.” Miss Ophelia took a lace-edged handkerchief from the pocket of
her dress and cleaned her glasses. “Our boys were terribly dispirited by their early defeat.”

“How much later?” I asked, squirming a little on the uncomfortable sofa.

“Near the end.” Miss Ophelia settled her spectacles back on her face. “It took place in early September of 1864, a week before General Sterling Price, our former governor, led his ill-fated raid. He believed his attack could stir a general uprising for the Confederacy.”

“But it didn't.” I remembered that much from our Missouri state history class.

“Shadow Bend's regiment, along with many others in Missouri, had been ordered to create a diversion for General Price's troops.” Miss Ophelia neatly folded her hanky and returned it to her pocket. “This time, before the big battle, our men used guerrilla maneuvers to weaken the enemy.”

“Like what?” Noah asked.

“Ambushes, sabotage, and hit-and-run tactics,” Miss Ophelia explained. “They used their familiarity with the area and their ability to move quickly against the Union's larger and less mobile troops.”

“Which means”—I paused as I thought about the ramifications of that type of fighting—“during the period before the actual battle, the Shadow Bend guys were mostly on their own. Little or no accountability.”

“Correct.” Miss Ophelia raised a feathery white brow. “Which is perhaps how tales became exaggerated and later questioned.”

“Any of our local families' heroes have disputed claims?” I asked. This had to be what Jett was researching. But why would he care about a tiny regiment that had made little impact in the war?

“There were stories about collaboration with the Union and another about an act of cowardice,” Miss Ophelia answered. “But nothing was ever proven, and with the passing of years, the rumors died out.”

“Do you know which soldiers were accused of what?” Noah asked.

“Thirty-nine years ago, Mindy Hargrove found a box of letters written by her great-great-great-grandfather. In them, several new facts came to light, one of which was a complaint that the only time Major Boone fought alongside his men in the front lines was during that last fatal battle.” Miss Ophelia tented her fingers. “But that wasn't unusual for officers.”

Could that have been the issue that nearly kept Mrs. St. Onge out of the CDM? It hardly seemed like enough, but I had no idea the stringency of the membership requirements.

“Who else was mentioned in the Hargrove letters?” I asked.

“Hargrove wrote that Captain Sinclair reported that the Union train his unit was sent to raid never showed up.” Miss Ophelia gazed at me. “He speculated that the Sinclairs were Union sympathizers.”

“Interesting,” I murmured. That was what Nadine had alluded to at the city council meeting. Since my family wasn't too rah-rah about their ancestors' past glories during the war and my initiation into the CDM had been halted due to my father's imprisonment, I'd never heard about the issue until Noah's mother had thrown the accusation at me. “And ironic considering that my great-great-great-great-grandfather was killed in that final battle, along with Major Boone and Colonel Underwood.”

“What about Colonel Underwood?” Noah broke in. “Any dirt on him?”

“Our ancestor's name has never been besmirched.” Miss Ophelia straightened her already rigid spine, then winked. “But Nadine has never allowed me to examine the papers pertaining to his service.”

“So we have a possible coward, an accused Union sympathizer, and an unknown,” I summarized, wanting to make sure I had everything straight. “And three of the founding families are represented.”

“That is precisely why the allegations were never examined.” Miss Ophelia scowled. “No one was interested in stirring up that kettle of fish.” She tapped her fingers on the arm of her chair. “Outside of the members of the CDM, who only want to flaunt their status, few people care about the past anymore. Which is why I was surprised when Mr. Benedict requested a meeting.”

“Did you agree to see him?” Noah asked, his shoulders stiffening.

“I did.” Miss Ophelia tilted her head toward me and said, “You have my deepest sympathy on the loss of your stepfather. He was a charming man and extremely well versed in Civil War history. It was a shame that we'd barely begun chatting when we were interrupted by a call from his lawyer. He excused himself and immediately left. He and I were supposed to meet again the next afternoon. Unfortunately, he was killed before that happened.”

Noah and I glanced at each other, and then I asked, “Was there anything in particular Jett asked you? Anything that stood out as unusual?”

“His interests were similar to the ones you and Noah have expressed.”

“Did you tell him what you told us?” I asked. I held my breath. Were we on the same track? “Or was he called away too soon?”

“Mr. Benedict already knew what I've relayed to you.” Miss Ophelia smoothed her skirt over her knees. “What he wanted from me was an opinion on a set of documents he'd recently run across.”

“At the library?” I asked.

“He didn't say where he'd located the documents.”

“What was in those papers?” Noah asked.

“I never got to examine them.” Miss Ophelia frowned. “He was called away before he produced them and declined to leave them with me.”

Something about Miss Ophelia's answer rang a bell in my head, but before I could figure out why, Noah said, “Thank you so much for seeing us.” Noah got up and hugged his cousin. “If you think of anything else about issues regarding the local families and the Civil War, please give me a call.”

“I will.” Miss Ophelia stood and showed us to the door. “But I suspect the documents your mother won't allow me to study might be what you really need to see.”