The Final Reveille: A Living History Museum Mystery (21 page)

Returning to the living room, I hesitated over the opening in the floor.

Chase took the flashlight from my hand. “Let me.”

I frowned. I didn't want to appear weak, but I really didn't want to climb back down into the hole. Before I could protest, Chase lowered himself through the hatch. He was only gone for a couple of minutes. The root cellar was tiny and wouldn't take long to survey with a strong flashlight.

Chase reappeared. “There's nothing down there.” He climbed out of the hole without my hel
p.

“I don't know if I'm relieved or disappointed.”

“Makes sense to be a little bit of both,” he said as he lowered the hatch over the hole. “And I guess I wasn't being completely honest.”

I froze. “Why not?” I asked.

“The cellar wasn't completely empty.”

“What did you find?”

“A pair of red eyes.” He moved the heavy trunk over the closed hatch. The root cellar was again hidden from visitors. “Could have been a raccoon, but you might want the place checked for rats. That would be my best guess. By the look of its eyes, it was Chihuahua-sized.”

I shivered.

Thirty-two

“No, no, no,” I
said moving across the green, waving my trusty notebook.

Two large men holding up a pole to erect the food tent for ball froze. The pole tilted at a diagonal.

I waved at them. “The food tent goes ten yards back.”

The men sighed and lowered the pole and carried it to the place I pointed out. When the food tent was finished, all the tents would be erect. While those men worked on raising the small tent, another team of men laid the wooden floor for the dancing in the middle of the large tent. Others set up round tables that could seat eight and high tops that could comfortably accommo
date six people standing. I hoped there would be enough tables and food for everyone. I ordered extra of everything, and so far only a handful had canceled their RSVPs. This would be the single biggest event I had ever pulled off.

It was midmorning and despite the misplaced pole, the Blue and Gray Ball was coming together more smoothly than I expected.

Except for my audience. Chase sat a few yards away on a park bench next to the church watching all the proceedings. He had followed me around all morning. At first I thought it was cute, but the cuteness was waning.

I marched over to him. “Chase, you need to leave.”

“What?” he asked looking up.

“You need to leave. You are going to miss your battle.”

“Bah,” he said, waving his hands. “I'm keeping an eye on you.”

“You don't have to. There are forty people here setting up for the ball. My assistant Ashland is here.”

“Ashland won't be any good if someone tried to knock you over the head with a tent pole.”

I pulled him to his feet. “Go. The morning battle starts in fifteen minutes. Get over there. You're making me nervous.”

He grinned. “I make you nervous?”

“Go.”

He sighed. “All right. I suppose my regiment needs me.” He winked and finally sauntered off.

After Chase left, Laura walked up to me with her period sunhat dangling from her hand. “What was Medic Hotness doing on that bench all morning?”

“Watching me. He was worried someone was going to knock me over the head again or some other ridiculousness.” I had told Laura about last night when she arrived at the Farm. As my best friend, she was required to hear about my near-death experiences.

Laura put a hand to her chest. “He's your knight in blue wool blend.”

“Can we leave the dramatics to my father?” I asked. “He's the professional.”

She laughed. “Whether you like it or not, I think Chase's chasing you is adorable.”

“Chasing me?”

She laughed. “You've spent too much of your time wasted on Eddie to know the signs.”

I frowned. Was she right? It felt strange to be pursued by a man, and I realized that I never had been. Eddie and I fell in love like you fall in love with familiarity and comfort, but it certainly didn't involve a chase. Our love could have been better described as a stumble.

“I need to get back to work.”

She grinned. “Got you thinking, didn't I?” She headed back to Barton House, swinging her hat as she went. She called over her shoulder, “Don't forget. I'll be at the cottage at five sharp to get you ready for the ball.” She twirled. “You'll be a fine lady.”

I winced. As much as I loved history, I didn't like being part of it. Thank goodness Hayden wasn't there to see me stick out my tongue. He would never let me forget it.

I went back to supervising the food tent. As I went around the village green, checking on the flower arrangements and number of chairs, I felt Ashland staring at me the whole time. Every time I turned around, she was there. I was used to Ashland shadowing me and following me from place to place, but this was to the extreme. I showed the party company where I wanted the candelabras to be in the dance tent and spun around. I hit Ashland in the face with my braid.

“Oh,” she cried and rubbed her nose.

“Are you all right?”

“I'm fine,” she said quickly. Her notebook was at the ready so
that she could jot down notes on directions I might have.

I folded my arms. “You're not fine. You've been acting strangely all morning. Ashland, what's
wrong?”

“Wrong? Nothing's wrong,” my assistant said.

“You've been staring at me all morning and following me.”

She looked at the ground. “You keep touching the back of your head. Are you okay?”

I dropped my hand from the back of my head, not realizing I'd even put it there. Maybe she was right and I had been touching my head all day. I was paranoid about the size of the lump. Thank goodness for my thick brown hair, a gift from my mother, or I would have had a complex about it. I sighed. “I had an accident last night.”

“An accident?”

I explained to her about the brick attack and the Bartons' root cellar.

Her hand flew to her mouth. “You could've been killed.”

I shook my head. “Whoever hit me just wanted to scare me.”

Her bottom lip stuck out. “Why didn't you tell me?”

I smoothed the white linen tablecloth over the table. “I didn't want you to worry.”

The radio on my hip crackled. “Kelsey. Kelsey come in? It's Judy.”

I removed the radio from my belt. “What is it, Judy?”

“We need you on this side of road.” It was hard to hear her over the noise in the background.

“Why? What's going on?”

“There seems to be an incident going on with the reenactors.”

“What kind of incident?” I asked. The last time I got a call like this, there was a dead body in the middle of the battlefield.

“I don't know,” she said. “Just get over here quick.”

“On my way.” I clipped my radio back on my belt. Couldn't we get through one mock battle without an altercation? “I need to go to the battlefield,” I said to no one in particular. I started for the road. I looked over my shoulder to find Ashland following me. “Ashland, stay here and supervise the setup.”

She kept following me. “But what if you need my help?”

“I do need your help. Here at the tents.”

She frowned but turned back to the tents, and I broke into a run.

The oxen stared at me as I raced past their yard. Jason stood with them and watched too, open mouthed.

I hit the pebbled path on the other side of Maple Grove Lane at a sprint. A large group gathered at the edge of the battlefield closest to the camps. I pushed my way through the crowd.

Some teenagers were yelling, “Fight, fight, fight!”

Oh boy. This wasn't good. This wasn't good at all.

I peeked around the arm of a barrel-chested man and saw the back of Chase and just the side of another man in a Confederate uniform.

I slid around the man. Sometimes it paid to be small. Now I was just two rows back from the arguments. I could now see Jamie Houck with his hands on his hips.

Chase balled his fists at his side. “My parents worked hard for that money.”

“We're talking about millions of dollars lost.” Jamie glared at Chase. “Your pitiful little investment isn't even worth my time!”

Chase decked the man in the jaw, and Jamie flew backward into the split-rail fence. He slid down a fence post and lay on his side.

Thirty-three

“Dad,” a pre-teen boy
said. “This is awesome. You didn't tell me that there would be real fights at these museum things. I totally would've come before!”

I didn't wait to hear his father's reply. “Excuse me, excuse me,” I said as I forced my way through the crowd. “Excuse me. Director of Barton Farm coming through.”

Finally, I broke through the cluster of people.

Chase stared at Jamie with his mouth open, as if he couldn't believe what he had just done.

Jamie rubbed his chin. “I'm going to sue you. After I'm done with you, you won't have a penny left.”

Chase's uncle, in his full Confederate uniform, stepped forward. “Now Sergeant Adams, you wouldn't want to do that and put at risk your place in my regiment, would you? You did swindle my
nephew
after all, so I'd say that was just cause to lay you flat on your back. But what do I know? I'm only the general of this Confederate Army and the police chief of New Hartford. I can't imagine what I think accounts for much.”

Jamie Houck/Henry Adams kept a hold on his jaw as if he thought it would become detached from his face. “H-he's your nephew?”

“Sure is. My beloved late sister was his mother. I'm disappointed to hear that you have no concern for my sister and brother-in-law's hard-earned money.” The police chief leaned forward and extended his hand to Jamie.

After a moment's hesitation, Jamie took his general's hand. “Thank you, sir,” he said.

“I'm sorry,” Chase said. “I shouldn't have let my temper get the best of me like that.”

“Oh, it's all right,” Jamie said as if he hadn't threatened to sue Chase two minutes ago. “I can understand why you were upset.”

“You see,” the police chief said. “That wasn't so hard to make up, now was it?”

Both younger men shook their heads.

The crowd, seeing that there wouldn't be any more punches thrown, started to disperse.

“Let's resume the battle, shall we?” Chief Duffy asked.

“Wait,” I said.

Chase turned and frowned when he saw me standing there.

“Adams,” I said, calling Jamie by his reenactor name. “Where were you when Maxwell was killed?”

“Oh, Ms. Cambridge,” the New Hartford police chief said. “I thought we put all that murder business to rest.”

“It's a simple question,” I said.

“It is,” the chief agreed. “But it is also one I can answer. Adams was with me. We had a late council of war that night. It went into the wee hours of the morning. Sergeant Adams had nothing to do with Maxwell's death. I can vouch for that.”

Jamie nodded. “That's right.”

My shoulders drooped. An alibi doesn't get any more airtight than one that comes directly from the chief of police. I wouldn't give up that easily. “Chief Duffy, what about the insulin used to subdue Maxwell?” I asked, pulling him aside.

He sighed. “What about it?”

“Detective Brandon took a needle and insulin sample from my father.”

He nodded.

“Did Officer Parker tell you about Private Darling's ruined insulin? I discovered it last night and asked him to tell you.”

“He did, but I already knew about Private Darling leaving the reenactment because of that. He's in my regiment, after all. Of course I had his insulin tested as well as your father's. Interestingly enough, they both use Humulin R and the same prescription of needle, both of which are consistent with what was used on Maxwell. Toxicology will have to confirm that, which takes time. It turns out your father and Darling even go to the same diabetes specialist in Akron.” He smiled.

I bit the inside of my lip as I digested this information.

“Now,” Chief Duffy said. “I know if might seem like it, but I don't sit around and twiddle my thumbs when it comes to murder. Since your father claims not to be missing any medicine or syringes, I suspect our killer stole Private Darling's insulin. Darling said—because I did track him down and ask him what happened—that three doses of his insulin were missing. The killer tripled the dose he gave Maxwell.” He paused as if to let that sink in. “All of the regular reenactors, including Wesley, knew about Darling's condition. We took it upon ourselves to keep an eye on him during the battles.”

So my discovery of Private Darling's insulin proved nothing. In fact, it made the case against Wesley that much worse. Could I be wrong? Had Wesley killed Maxwell? I rejected the idea.

The chief patted my arm and said in a low voice only I could hear. “It will all become clear. You'll see.”

I stared at him, and he winked at me.

“Now, to battle,” Chief Duffy said. Still with a hand on his face, Jamie followed his general to the Confederate encampment.

When they had gone, I grabbed Chase by the arm and pulled him away from the split-rail fence.

“Hey,” he protested. “I thought you wanted me to participate in today's battle.”

“That was before you decided to deck someone. Come with me.” I pulled him toward the visitor center.

Chase was three times my size. I couldn't pull him anywhere that he didn't want to go, so he came willingly.

We entered the visitor center through the main entrance. Judy was on the other side of the door. She had a hand on her cheek. “What is the world coming to? It just seems like one thing after another for this reenactment!”

Truer words had never been spoken.

I led Chase to my
office. When we got inside, I pointed to the empty chair that the chief sat in just two days before
to question me about Maxwell's murder. Had that only been two days ago? It seemed like months—or years. So much had happened in such a short amount of time. It also seemed like that the North and South encampments had always been here. It would feel strange when they packed up to leave the next day, but it would also be a relief. There were many things that were going to change for the reenactment next year—and there
would
be a next year. Despite murder and brick attacks, the Farm had made more in the last three days than we had made in the entire previous season. Next year, I would be more careful who I invited to take part in the reenactment.

Chase had a light scratch over his right eyebrow that I just noticed. It gave him a roguish look.

“Did Jamie hit you?”

Chase shook his head. “I got this during the battle. I got a little too close to a Rebel's bayonet. Reenacting is a full-contact hobby.”

“What was going on out there?” I leaned on the side of my desk.

“I don't know. I saw him in the field and just sort of snapped. I didn't know Adams was Jamie Houck until my uncle told me right before the battle. I figured I'd ask him if he knew that Maxwell's business partner was at the Farm, and he told me Jamie's alias. Talking to you last night about how I wasted all my parents' money brought up all those hard feelings, feelings I thought I was over.” He placed his head in his hands. “When there was a break in the action, I went over to Jamie just to talk. I thought—I don't know what I thought—maybe I hoped that he had a way to get my investment back.” His hands balled into fists. “But he turned out to be as pompous and egotistical as Maxwell. I never intended to hit him. I was going to walk away, but then he said something that made me react …”

“I heard,” I said. “I can't have people hitting each other on the Farm, and you're really lucky your uncle stepped in there. I have little doubt that Jamie would have sued you if your uncle hadn't asserted his authority.”

His face fell into hands again. “I know.”

I pushed off of the desk. “I need to get back to the village. You can hang in here as long as you want to calm down.”

He looked up. “I could come with you.”

“Bad idea. I have too much to do and you are a distraction.”

He smiled at this.

I fled my office before he could make a smart remark. After checking in with Judy at the ticket counter, I went outside. The sound of cannon fire ripped through the air. The Rebels charged the Yankees on the field.

As I walked back to the village green to check on the tents, I stopped. Portia stood under an oak tree near the path, combing her ponytail with her fingers over and over again. I hurried over to her. “Portia, what are you doing here?”

“I—I don't—I just felt like I need to come here, close to where …” She couldn't finish her thought.

“Can I get you something to eat or drink? You are really pale.”

“No. I haven't eaten in a few days. I don't think my appetite will ever come back after what I've done.”

“What do you mean?” My pulse quickened. Was she about to confess to Maxwell's murder?

“I left the man I loved for money and now he's dead because of it.”

“You mean Wesley.”

She nodded and dabbed at her eyes with the ends of her hair. “I didn't love Maxwell,” she whispered as if we were in confession and I was the priest. “I never loved him, but I thought I could be happy with him because of what he could provide me.”

I chewed on the inside of my cheek.

She looked up at me with her big eyes as if she could read my mind. “That doesn't mean I killed him.”

I folded my arms. “I didn't say that.”

She tugged on her hair. “You thought it.”

I didn't deny that. “Where did you and Cynthia go after the play last night?”

“We went back to the estate and had a late dinner. Cynthia ate, and I watched her eat. Nothing appealed to me. Then we went to our separate rooms.”

“What time was that?”

She thought for a moment. “We finished dinner around nine. Cynthia likes to take her time when she eats. I don't mind. I have nothing else to do and nowhere else to go.”

That meant they were still eating dinner when someone hit me on the back of my head. It would be easy to check her story out with Cynthia.

“Why do you ask? Did something happen?”

I shook my head. “It's not important.” The lie slipped easily off of my tongue.

“I should let you go. I know that you have a lot to do for tonight's ball. Cynthia's looking forward to it.”

A crack of cannon fire interrupted our conversation. Portia and I both looked over at the battlefield. This time the Union made an assault on the Confederate Army. The Rebel line fell back behind their makeshift trenches.”

Portia shook her head. “I don't understand why anyone would want to pretend killing people like that. Don't you think it's horrible?”

I watched as a Confederate fell in a spectacular death scene. “War is horrible,” I said. “That's why museums and historic sites like this one are important. They are here to remind us of our past, both good and bad. It's the only way to learn from it and avoid the same mistakes. Most of the time, history repeating itself is a very bad thing.”

She frowned. I hadn't convinced her.

“If you'd like, you can come with me to village. We're in the middle of setting up for the ball. I could use some extra hands,” I said, knowing that Chase had offered his help and I had turned him down. The difference was that Portia didn't make me nervous; Chase did, and I kicked myself for letting him know that.

“It would be nice to feel useful. Are you sure I won't be in the way?”

“You won't be in the way. Let's go.”

She followed me down the pebbled path, and the sound of the guns and cannon fire faded but didn't completely fall away.

Portia was quiet while we walked. She said finally, “I wasn't the only girl to fall under the spell of the comfort Maxwell could provide. I was the lucky one—or unlucky one—that he chose in the end.”

I stopped so abruptly that I skidded on the pebbles. “What do you mean, other girls?”

She squinted into the sun. “Maxwell always had a string of young women hanging around. It wasn't until we were officially engaged that he told them all to leave.”

“Anyone I know?” I asked.

She shook her head. “I don't know. I never saw any of the others. I knew of them, but Maxwell was very careful to keep us separated. Whoever they were, they must have hated me.”

And Maxwell
, I thought. Did any of them hate him enough to kill him?