The Final Reveille: A Living History Museum Mystery (16 page)

“The chief is dealing with the death on the field.”

“Please.”

Officer Sonders frowned but unhooked his radio from his belt and radioed the chief.

I inched toward the brick pit just a few feet. With the tarp covering it, I couldn't see the mud. A wasp buzzed by my ear. I ducked. It was probably a mud dauber.

The plot to kill Maxwell had been much more elaborate than I first thought. Whoever did it had to know the Farm intimately. The culprit knew that wasps were hiding in the brick pit, that my father was type 1 diabetic, and how to remove a piece of honeycomb from Shepley's hives without disturbing most of the bees.

The more I thought about it, the more it looked like someone from the Farm was behind the murder. Since the only official Farm employee suspect was me, I was looking better and better as the killer. I knew that, and Chief Duffy and the lovely Detective Brandon knew that too.

Twenty-five

Laura stepped beside me.
“Kel, what's wrong?”

I didn't want to share my suspicions with her that it was a Farm employee who murdered Maxwell. If I said it aloud, then it might be true, and as much as I loved and trusted Laura, I knew that she had a tendency to let things slip.

The arrival of Chase and his uncle saved me from answering. They were still both in their uniforms from the field. A smudge of dirt marred Chase's cheek. He frowned. “What's going on, Kelsey?”

I told them both about the honeycomb missing from Shepley's hive and about honeybees versus mud daubers. As I spoke, neither man reacted.

“What?” I asked.

The chief chuckled. “You must think this is our first rodeo. We knew about the honeycomb. The medical examiner caught onto that right away. He found the pieces of honeycomb. There wasn't much, just shreds of it, but I guess you have to know the different kinds of bugs in his line of work. Me, I can't tell a fly from a ladybug. Since there were only tiny pieces of the honeycomb left, we suspect most of it had been removed after Maxwell was stung.”

I swallowed. That would mean whoever did this waited and watched Maxwell get stung and then removed the honeycomb. It was too horrible for words. And here I was thinking I was sharing this monumental break in the case and they already knew about it.

“Why wasn't I told?”

His face clouded. “There was no reason to tell you.”

My jaw twitched. “Did you know?” I asked Chase.

He looked away. There was my answer.

Laura clicked her tongue. “Not cool, Chase. Now she'll never like you.”

Chase stared at Laura and then blushed. I couldn't believe that she was making junior high jokes at a time like this.

The one thing that I had learned for certain about this conversation was that my partnership, or whatever it had been, with Chase was over. From here on out, I was going to solve this case in spite of him and his police chief uncle.

Chief Duffy beamed. “It doesn't matter anyway. The case is closed.”

“You found the killer?” Laura asked.

“Sure did.” He removed a plastic bag from the pocket of his Confederate coat. “Got the confession right here.”

“Who did it?” Laura was asking the questions. I was too shocked to speak.

“Wesley,” Chase answered.

My eyes flicked over to him. “I don't believe you.”

“Read it for yourself.” He handed me a piece of paper in a clear plastic envelope.

It was dated the day before.

Dear Portia my love,

I am sorry for what I have done and what I will do. I know you are hurting because of my actions and my choices. For all his faults, Maxwell did not deserve the end he received. Please forgive me and remember what I do next is to make all of this easier on you. I have forgiven you.

All my love forever,

Wesley

Laura took the letter from my hand and read it. “Whoa.”

I turned to Chase. “But we saw him last night. He gave us no clues he planned to do this.”

“He was drunk and depressed. That can make a man stop thinking straight.”

“But—”

“I know it's hard for you to believe, Kelsey,” the police chief said. “But those are the facts. It's good news for you and for the Farm. You're off the hook.”

Off the hook? Okay. So why didn't I feel better about it? Because a hurting young man was dead. Whether it was by his hand or someone else's, it didn't matter; he was still dead.

Laura handed the chief back the piece of paper. “He doesn't really come out and say that he killed Maxwell in that letter. Just that he's sorry.”

The chief shrugged. “We'll have our psych guys look it over from the county crime lab, but sometimes confessions aren't verbatim.”

Laura frowned.

“How did he die?” I asked. “Chase said that he stopped breathing before he hit his head on the rock on the battlefield.”

“He poisoned himself.” The chief slipped the letter back into his pocket. “At least that's what the medical examiner believes. We won't know exactly what he used as poison until we get the toxicology report.”

In my mind's eye, I saw Wesley taking swig after swing from that brown jug. Chase and I had assumed that it was liquor. Had he been poisoning himself the entire time? “The cider he was drinking last night,” I said.

Chase nodded. “We already recovered the jug. The medical examiner is taking it to his lab for comparison.”

“But you dumped the contents out into the grass.” My tone was accusatory, but I could not help it.

His brow furrowed. “I did. I didn't even suspect that there was anything else in there other than hard cider.”

“Where did you find the letter?” I asked.

Chase answered this time. “It was sitting in the middle of his pillow on his mat like it was waiting for us.”

I started for the road without another word. All I wanted at that moment was to see my son. I hadn't seen Hayden all day. Instead I had wasted my time wrapped up in this murder, and it came to nothing, other than a young man dead.

I heard running footsteps coming up behind me. “Kelsey!” Chase ran around me and jogged backward in front of me.

“Get out of my way, Chase.”

“Let me explain.”

I stepped around him and looked both ways before crossing the street.

“My uncle told me not to tell you about the bees.”

“Great. You respect your elders. That's one point in your favor, but you are still running a deficit.”

“I'm sorry. But we can still—”

“What does it matter now? Wesley did it, right?” I glared at him. “You believe that?”

“There's the letter—”

“Laura's right. It's not a real confession. This doesn't feel right.”

“It's enough to end the case. Don't you want that?”

“Not if it's not true!”

“You are—”

“Dear lady, is this soldier bothering you?” Walt Whitman asked, stroking his long white Santa Claus beard.

Chase grabbed at my hand, but I shifted away from his grasp.

“Dear boy,” Walt snapped. “That is no way to handle a lady.” He took Chase by the arm. “Perhaps you would like to listen to my poetry to calm yourself. Have you heard of
Leaves of Grass
? I have always found that poetry gives me clarity. In 1862, when I was working in the hospital as a nurse, I found that a few lines of my v
erse soothed the men in their pain. You are one of the lucky ones not to have been injured in battle. We pray that there aren't any more casualties, but this war will go on for many more months, I'm afr
aid.”

“Kelsey,” Chase said, ignoring Walt's speech.

I kept walking. As far as I was concerned, Walt could have him. Yanking my radio from my belt, I radioed Ashland.

“Yes, Kelsey,” she said, sounding more confident than I had ever heard her.

“Do you know if Eddie brought Hayden to the reenactment today?”

“He did,” she said over the radio. “They arrived late, about an hour ago.”

“Where are they?”

“I just saw them in the candle maker's shed.”

I thanked her and ended the transmission.

Twenty-six

Inside the candle making
shed, Eddie and Hayden watched as Benji pulled a full dip stick of light blue-green bayberry candles from her copper tub of hot wax. “I'm making bayberry candles.” With her free hand, she held up a dried twig from a bayberry bush, which still had its leaves and berries on it. “The wax comes from this bush. During the nineteenth century, these were candles used for special occasions like Christmas.” Benji ran her thumb along the bottom of the line of candles. Bayberry wax coated her hand.

“Doesn't that burn?” Hayden asked.

She shook her head. “The candles are warm, but they cool off enough to touch after a few seconds out of the wax. Bayberry makes your hands smell good too.” She wrinkled her nose. “This is much better than making tallow candles, which are made with animal fat. Those stink.”

“Eww,” Hayden said.

“Hayden,” I said from the doorway.

My son turned and his entire face lit up. “Mom! Where have you been? We've been here forever.” He ran across the shed and threw his arms around me like he hadn't seen me in weeks.

I buried my face into his neck and fought back tears. I would take as many of Hayden's hugs as I could get. I worried about the day when he would no longer want to hug me in public.

Eddie laughed. “We've only been here for an hour, H, and you know your mother has been working.”

Eddie followed Hayden and me out of the shed.

“Where's Krissie?” I asked.

Eddie frowned. “Ladies room.” He checked the time on his iPhone. “That was a while ago. I wonder why she's not back yet.”

“I can go check on her,” I said. “Do you know which restroom she was headed to?”

“The visitor center. I think that's the closest.”

“It is. I'll go get her now.”

“Can I come with you?” Hayden tugged on the hem of my polo shirt.

“You stay with me, H.” Eddie pried his hand from my shirt. “Why don't you go back inside? I want to talk to Mom for a second.”

I frowned. Eddie rarely wanted to talk to me alone.

“Okay,” my son said good-naturedly. “Can I dip candles?”

“Under Benji's close supervision,” I said. “And be careful and do everything that she says. Remember, she is the professional.”

“Yea!” he cried as if it was the best news that he had ever heard and disappeared inside the building.

Eddie squinted into the sun. “I heard about the guy dying on the battlefield today.”

I folded my arms. “From who?”

“Everyone here is talking about it. Even your candle dipper mentioned it.”

I made a face.

“Are you really sure Barton Farm is best place for Hayden to live? Maybe he would be better living with Krissie and me.”

“Is that a threat?”

He scolded. “It's a question, but now that I'm getting married and will have more help at home, I think it's time to revisit our custody agreement.”

“More help at home?” I snapped. “Is Hayden too much work to have just on your own? Because it's just him and me ninety percent of the time.”

“You know what I mean.” He swatted at a mosquito.

“No, Eddie, I don't know what you mean.” I lowered my voice. “And as far as custody goes, I'll fight you, don't think I won't. I will fight you with everything I have.”

“It seems to me that I'm the one more concerned with our son's safety.”

I felt like I had been slapped across the face. Hayden was my number-one priority. He would always be my number-one priority. Eddie knew better than to question that. I ground my teeth. “I'm going to go find your bride.” I marched away, seething with every step.

Inside the visitor center, I stepped into the women's restroom. There was a middle-aged woman at the counter washing her hands, and I heard sniffles and whimpers coming from the stalls. The woman at the counter jerked her thumb at the handicapped stall at the end of the room.

After she left, I walked over to the stall and knocked on the door with the back of my knuckles. “Krissie? It's Kelsey. Are you all right?”

“No,” was the wail that came in return. The stall door unlocked. “Come in here,” she said.

Was she kidding? After the many reasons why I shouldn't go into the stall flashed across my mind, I went through the metal entry anyway. As soon as I cleared the door, Krissie slammed it closed and relocked it. Then, she sat on the toilet, fully clothed, thank heaven.

She buried her face in her hands. Okay, this was weird. I was in a locked handicap restroom stall with the twenty-two-year-old my ex-husband was set to marry and raise my son with.

I leaned on the sink inside the stall and folded my arms. “What's wrong?”

She gasped. “Wesley is dead. I went to his tent to say hello and there were police all over the place. He's dead. He committed suicide.”

I dropped my arms. “I'm so sorry. I know he was your friend.”

“I—I just saw him yesterday and he was fine. I was just so shocked I didn't know what to do, so I came back here.” She blew her nose in a wad of toilet paper. “I didn't want Hayden to see me cry.”

“I appreciate that,” I said, meaning it.

“The police said Wesley murdered that man. I know I haven't seen him in years, but the Wesley that I knew would not have done that. He wouldn't!” She shook the wad of toilet paper at me for emphasis.

“Did Wesley give you any indication that he planned to kill himself yesterday?”

“No, not at all. He was genuinely excited to see me. We talked about college and where our other friends are now.”

“Did he say anything about Maxwell?”

“He mentioned that he was dead and that he was engaged to Portia. That was a shock to me. I thought Portia and Wesley would be together forever.” She rubbed her eyes.

“You knew Portia too?”

She nodded. “She went to college with us. She and Wesley lived together most of that time. It was hard to see Wesley and not see Portia too. I didn't know her as well as Wesley, but I always thought she was a sweet girl. Maybe a little shy. I was surprised to hear she was marrying such a powerful man, but then, Maxwell had money.”

“Money was important to Portia?”

“Wesley hinted to me once that Portia was very poor. I think she came from a foster family. I could be wrong on that.”

“Did Wesley confess to you that he killed Maxwell?”

“No, he did not.” She balled the paper in her fist. “He didn't do it.”

“I don't think he did it, either,” I said. “The police are wrong.”

She lifted her head. Tears streaked her face, and her bottom lip quivered. She looked like a little girl. Her expression made me feel incredibly sad and incredibly old.

“Really?”

“I'll find out who really killed Maxwell,” I said.

“You will?” Tears hung on her eyelashes. “You'd do that for me?”

“I'm not doing it for you,” I said. “It's for Wesley, and for Cynthia, who has a right to know what really happened to her nephew.”

Outside the stall, the bathroom door slammed closed, startling us both.

“Was someone listening to us?” Krissie whispered.

I stared at the stall door. “I don't know.”

“You won't tell Eddie where you found me, will you? I haven't told him about running into Wesley yesterday. It would just upset him.”

I opened the stall door. We were the only ones there.

She followed me out of the stall. “Are you going to tell him?”

I sighed. The situation with Hayden came to mind, but that was something Eddie and I needed to discuss as parents. I wasn't going to get Krissie involved. At least not yet.

“I won't tell him.”

She let out a breath. After washing her face and reapplying her makeup, I led Krissie back to Hayden and Eddie at the candle making shed.

“Mom,” Hayden said when we arrived. “Look, I made these!” He held up a dip stick holding three tiny candles hanging from the stick by their wicks.

“That's awesome, Hayden!” I said.

Eddie wrapped his arm around Krissie's shoulders. “Everything all right, honey?”

She nodded.

He frowned and gently brushed her hair out of her eyes. I had to look away.

Eddie, Krissie, and Hayden left shortly after that. My cell phone rang as I waved good-bye to their car. It pained me to watch them drive away.

“Hey,” Justin said in my ear. “I just heard that Wesley Mayes was the one that offed Maxwell. I guess you're no longer in need of my lawyerly services.”

“The police have the wrong guy.”

He groaned. “I thought you would be glad that you're no longer a suspect.”

“I am, but I know Wesley didn't do it.”

“How?” he asked.

“Krissie said he was innocent too.”

He choked a laugh. “Wait, do I have the right number? I am talking to Kelsey Renard Cambridge, am I not?”

“Yes,” I said through gritted teeth.

“What, did you and Krissie braid each other's hair or something? Since when have you cared anything about her?”

“I'm just saying I'm not the only one who believes he's innocent. I just have to prove that to the police.”

“Kel.” Justin's voice turned serious. “Don't do anything stupid, okay? Even though my brother and you aren't married anymore, I still care about you.”

I always suspected that I fell in love with the wrong Cambridge boy. I slid the phone into the back pocket of my jeans after disconnecting and returned to the cottage to clear my head. Dad was in the living room with arms raised, shouting boos at Frankie and Tiffin. Neither animal appeared overly concerned; they were used to Dad practicing his lines on them.

I waved at Dad and went upstairs. I stepped into Hayden's room and sat on his bed. Action figures and Lego blocks were strewn across the floor. I had asked him to pick them up before he left with this father, but I knew that was just force of habit. Finding them still on the floor was not a surprise.

I knelt on the floor, pulling one of his toy crates across the navy blue carpet. One by one, I tossed the action heroes into the crate.

Dad knocked on the doorframe. “How is my favorite child?” he asked. His eyes drooped downward with concern.

A yellow minion fell into the crate. “I'm your only child.”

Frankie walked into the room and grabbed a plastic Spider-Man, dragging it under the bed like a spider taking a fly back to her web. I didn't have the energy to wrestle it away from him. That particular Spider-Man was on his own.

“That's good because I couldn't like another one more than I like you.”

I fought back a smile as a sat back on my heels. “Did you hear about Wesley?”

He sat on Hayden's bed. “I did.”

“I don't think he did it.”

Dad tapped his cheek with his index finger. “Then, find out who did. You're a smart girl, you can do it.”

“As my father, shouldn't you encourage me not to get in
volved?” Two more minions went into the crate.

He waved his hand. “Bah! As your father, it's my job to encourage you to do the right thing. If you don't think Wesl
ey murdered Maxwell, then find out who did.” He stood. “Now, I must head to the playhouse. The big show is tonight. You are still coming, aren't you?”

I smiled. “Yes. Both Laura and I will be there.”

“Good, and for one night put this murder behind you and enjoy yourself. You'll come to the right conclusion in the end.”

“You act like that's easy. The police can't even figure it out.”

“I know you can do it, Kelbel,” he said and left the room.

I stood, picked up the crate, and slid it into its place on Hayden's bookshelf. “I wish I had your confidence.”