The Final Reveille: A Living History Museum Mystery (11 page)

eighteen

All day I had
felt a need to go visit Cynthia, but fear that I would intrude on her grief made me wait. I knew that she would have her house staff with her, but who else was visiting her and giving her comfort during this time? As far as I knew, Maxwell was her only family. After Ashland ran back to the visitor center to hunt for Jason's personnel file, I went in search of Laura.

I found her eating cornbread with Chase Wyatt in the Union camp. I turned to go before she spotted me, but I was too slow.

“Kel, over here!” she called.

Reluctantly, I joined them.

With a smile, Chase held up a square cast-iron pan to me. “Cornbread?”

“No, thank you,” I said curtly.

He shrugged and cut out another hunk for himself.

“Chase and I were having a nice visit, and I told him all about you,” Laura said.

My face grew hot. “Laura, can I talk to you?” I nodded to Chase. “Enjoy your cornbread.”

His smile broadened. “Oh, I will. I make the best cornbread in camp. I don't usually share it, but then again, I don't usually get nice company like Laura.”

Laura stood from the camp stool and brushed cornbread crumbs from her skirt before following me away from Chase.

When we were out of earshot, I hissed, “What were you doing with him?”

“I wanted to check him out before I encouraged you to go out with him. As your best friend, that's my job.”

I looked heavenward. “I appreciate your concern, but really it's not your job. It's not anyone's job.”

She shrugged. “I made it mine.” She paused. “He's a really nice guy, Kel. I think you should date him after this whole murder investigation is over.”

Oh right, we still have the little issue of a murder that has to come before my love life.

I threw up my hands. “Laura, what makes you think that he wants to go out with me?”

“Oh, I know he does. I can tell. He was very interested in you and asked a lot of questions.”

I started in the direction of the visitor center. “That just means he wants information—information he can feed his uncle the police chief, so he can get whatever supposed heat from the investigation off of himself and onto me.”

She shook his head. “He seemed genuine.”

I rolled m
y eyes. “Whatever he may feel about me is a moot point. I'm not interested. Besides, he could be married
. Sometimes reenactors remove their wedding rings, either because their character wasn't married or because he didn't have a wedding band.”

She grinned. “So you noticed he's not wearing a wedding ring.”

I scowled.

“For your information, he's not married. I asked. Don't worry, I asked all the pertinent questions. He lives in New Hartford. Has been engaged once but never married. Doesn't have any kids. He's been an EMT for the town for over ten years.”

I groaned. “I'm over this conversation. Can we talk about something else?”

She shrugged. “Okay.”

“Can you be in charge for a bit? I'm going to visit Cynthia.”

Her face fell. “Do you want me to come with you?”

I shook my head. “No, I'll be all right. I don't know if she'll be up for to too many visitors. I don't even know if she will be up to seeing me.”

“Where's Ashland? Shouldn't she be in charge while you're gone?”

“Technically,” I smiled, “she is. But you know that any one of those reenactors could push her over. I need someone tougher to take care of things while I am away. I won't be gone long.”

“Hurry back. You don't want to miss the bonfire.”

“I'll be back long before the bonfire.” Before I left her, I said, “Please, I don't want to hear anything more about Chase, okay?”

“Okay,” she agreed.

My car was in the back corner of the parking lot beside the carriage house. It was an old sedan, a hand-me-down from my father. It was all I could afford on my salary at the Farm. Thankfully, the job came with a roof over my head or I would never make ends meet. Eddie paid child support for Hayden, but I had opted out of alimony. I was determined to make my own way. At the time I made that decision, Laura told me that I was crazy for turning down the money. Sometimes I agreed with her, but I would never tell her that.

Cynthia's home was the largest estate in the valley and sat within the park's limits. Since her property was there before the state park was established in the 1980s, she got to keep it. With the park surrounding her land on all four sides, she had the good fortune of not having to worry about any crazy neighbors bringing down her property values. Her only neighbors were the trees, birds, and animals of the forest.

A curved road was the only way in or out of the estate. Either side was lined with trees that bent toward each other over the road, making a broad leaf canopy. The only break in the canopy was the beginning of Cynthia's driveway.

Maxwell had also lived with his aunt on the sprawling property, which was big enough for him to have his own wing. That must have made his death that much more difficult for Cynthia. Despite the size of the property, she was accustomed to seeing her nephew every single day.

The mansion sat well back from the road. Oak trees lined either side of her driveway. I pulled around in front of the house, a Tudor replica that was four stories high. I had seen houses like this when Eddie and I spent our honeymoon in England. I pushed those memories of happier times with him aside. He was getting married now. It would be best if I filed those memories in a drawer and threw away the key.

I rang the doorbell and waited. Nothing happened. Perhaps Cynthia went to stay with friends. I knew that Maxwell was the only family she had. I was just reaching for the lion-head knocker when the door opened. I dropped my suspended hand.

Cynthia's butler, Miles, opened the door. I was willing to bet Cynthia was the only person in New Hartford with a butler. Miles wore a gray suit and a sour expression. He was dressed down when compared to Carson from
Downton Abbey
but for rural Ohio, he looked like he was ready for Wall Street.

“Good afternoon, Ms. Cambridge. How can I help you?” he drawled.

“I would like to see Cynthia, if she's feeling up to it.”

Miles eyed me. “Ms. Cherry is indisposed at the moment. Since you're coming from Barton Farm, I presume that you know why. She is devastated by the murder of her beloved nephew. It's been a terrible shock for the entire house.” He started to close the door.

I stuck my foot over the threshold to stop him. “Can you at least ask her if she is up to seeing visitors?”

Miles's scowl deepened. “Please wait here.”

I yanked at the end of my braid while I waited. It was a nervous habit left over from my childhood. When I realized what I was doing, I dropped my hair. It reminded me of Portia, who had constantly played with her hair when I met her. Where was she today?

The door opened again. Miles stepped back into view. “Ms. Cherry would like to see you.”

“Thank you,” I said meekly.

I stepped into the home. The front door opened into an entryway that was twice the size of my living room. In fact, I knew that I could fit my entire cottage inside the front hall and have room to spare. The floor was some type of mosaic. Instead of staying in keeping with the Tudor exterior, the best way to describe Cynthia's home was
eccentric
. I knew each room represented a different region of the world, and the entry was an homage to the Middle East.

Miles led me to the solarium. Since the solarium faced west, the force of the late-afternoon rays spilled into the room. While the entry was Middle Eastern, the solarium was appropriately decorated like the tropics. Large potted palm trees and succulents dominated the space. The furniture was in keeping with the Caribbean colors of peach, cream, and turquoise.

Cynthia sat in a sunny spot on a chaise longue. Despite the heat, she had an afghan wrapped around her shoulders and a second one tucked around her legs. I could have been wrong, but I thought that she was shivering. Was being cold a symptom of congestive heart failure, or grief?

The wall of windows she faced overlooked the Cherry estate. A great blue heron swooped down and stole a koi from Cynthia's lake. “How dreadful. Miles, please ask the gardener to find a way to scare the herons away from the pond. I hate the idea of losing any more fish.”

“Of course, ma'am.” Miles bowed.

“And please have a tea tray brought up for Ms. Cambridge and me. Something sugary. I have no intention of eating healthy on this day.”

He nodded and walked backward out of the room.

I had almost expected him to say “my lady” and was disappointed when he did not.

Cynthia untangled one of her arms from the afghan and held out her left hand to me. “Kelsey, it was good of you to come. It's been a most terrible day, and I'm happy to see a friendly face.”

I squeezed her hand. “How are you?”

She patted a tissue to the side of her red nose. “I'm all right. But any time I think of poor Maxwell, I burst into tears. He was the only family I had, you see.”

I sat on the edge of the ottoman at her feet and squeezed her hand. “I know that. It must be so hard.”

“I've outlived all of them—my parents, my sisters and brother, my nieces, and now my nephew. It doesn't seem fair that I would have the burden of being the last person standing. No one wants to be the one left behind. Everyone wants to be the first to go, so that you can avoid the sting of separation.”

I didn't know what I would do if I lost Hayden before I died. I shivered. I couldn't even entertain the thought.

“I keep expecting Maxwell to march into the solarium for our afternoon tea and complain about something or other. I know he could be difficult at times. But every day, he took the time to sit down with me, sip a cup of tea, and tell me about his vision for the Cherry Foundation. Some of his ideas I didn't agree with, but I was happy that he was so impassioned for the responsibility that he was willing to spend time with his elderly aunt to talk about it.”

I chewed on the inside of my lip. Maxwell had been a greedy and selfish person, but his aunt still loved him, reminding me that everyone leaves someone behind to mourn him when he dies. If he doesn't, then the life—as well as the death—is a true tragedy.

Miles returned with the tea tray. There was a Royal Doulton teapot in the middle of the tray with two teacups and saucers. It also had silverware that was surely made with real silver. I wouldn't expect Cynthia to dine on anything less.

Cynthia thanked Miles, and he walked backward out of the room again. It was a wonder that he was able to do that without running into a palm tree. I would have taken them all out by that point.

“I'm so very sorry about Maxwell,” I said as I poured her a cup of tea. My words sounded empty. I was sorry. I was sorry for Cynthia. I was even sorry for Maxwell. He may have been a ruthless business man, but no one deserved to die that way.

“I know that Maxwell wasn't well liked. He was a shrewd person. Very few people got to see his softer side. I did. Portia did.” She covered her face with her hand. “Every time I think of the poor girl, it brings me to tears. She and Maxwell had their whole lives in front of them. I'm ashamed to say that I was already daydreaming about having children on the estate again.” A tear fell onto her lap.

I focused on making my own tea in order to give her a moment to compose herself. I added cream and sugar to my cup. Considering the surroundings, I thought it was appropriate to take my tea the British way. “Have you seen Portia today?”

She nodded. “Of course I have. She was in the breakfast room this morning and then at luncheon. Although neither of us felt much like eating.”

I nearly dropped my teacup. “She lives here.”

“Why, yes.” She shook her finger at me. “It's not what you think. I would not stand by any hanky-panky in my home.”

I choked on my tea with the unwelcome mental image of Maxwell and hanky-panky.

“But the house has several wings. It seemed silly for Portia to keep throwing away her money to rent an apartment when they were engaged. She lives in the east wing, where I am, and Maxwell lived in the west.”

“Is Portia here now?”

She nodded. “I imagine she's in her suite. She only came down for the meals because I asked her to.”

I sipped my tea. I wanted to ask about the future of the foundation and, by extension, the future of Barton Farm, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. Cynthia relieved me of that worry.

She set her tea still untouched on the small glass table beside her. “I know my mind should not be whirling with practicalities now, but it cannot be helped. I have so many affairs to put in order. I have called my lawyers and they will be here in droves tomorrow.”

“Because of the foundation?” I asked.

She nodded. “All of it was to go to Maxwell to be used as he saw fit. He understood my vision for how the foundation should operate. He would have done the right thing.”

Maxwell may have understood her vision, but I doubted he planned to carry it out.

Cynthia picked up her teacup from the side table between us but did not sip from it. “Now I don't know who will take over the foundation. I don't have any more family, not even a distant cousin.”

“I'm sorry, Cynthia.” I wrapped my hands around my teacup.

“Thank you,” she murmured. “There are Maxwell's businesses to worry over too, though I suppose most of those will go to Jamie.”

“Who's Jamie?” I set my own teacup on the table and selected a pink petite four from the tray.

“Jamie Houck is—was—Maxwell's partner at the investment firm. I'm surprised you haven't seen him. He's an avid reenactor. Maxwell said all he had spoken about for weeks was the reenactment at Barton Farm.”