The Final Reveille: A Living History Museum Mystery (22 page)

Thirty-four

Ashland met us near
the dance tent. “Kelsey, I think everything is ready. All that's left to do is for the caterer to arrive and set up the food.” She checked her watch. “It's noon now, and they'll be here at three to have everything ready by six. The band will arrive at four.”

I gave a sigh of relief that at least one thing this weekend had gone as planned. I walked into the dance tent. Until the Farm closed to the general public; we would leave the sides of the tent rolled down. When the Farm closed at five, the waitstaff would open both tents.

The inside of the tent was exactly as I envisioned it should be. A big dance floor lay in the middle. It would be large enough to accommodate the parlor room dances that were popular during the Civil War. The far end of the tent was where the six-piece string band would be, playing favorite pieces from the era. A glass chandelier hung from the center of the tent, which would provide electric light—I was all for being historically accurate, but not in the case of a fire hazard. Chairs and benches circled the perimeter, so that those unable or who didn't want to dance would have places to sit. I grinned. “It's perfect.”

Portia cleared her throat. “If everything is done, then you won't need my help.”

“We do,” I assured her. I removed my notebook from my back pocket. “How is your handwriting?”

“Okay.”

“Can you write in cursive?”

She frowned. “Yes.”

“Perfect. I had to ask. They don't teach cursive in schools any longer. Hayden will learn keyboarding instead.” I unfolded a list that was tucked into the pages of my notebook. “This is a list of all the ladies who RSVPed. I would like you to write their names on the front of these dance cards.”

Portia took the list from me. “There are three hundred names on this list.”

“Actually it's three hundred and six, but if you and Ashland work together, you should have it completed in no time.” I sighed. “I had planned to do it myself earlier in the reenactment, but as both of you know, this weekend did not go as planned.” I removed a large box from under the table closest to where the band would be. “The printing company delivered the dance cards today.” I set the box on top of the table.

I removed one of the cards from the box. It was printed on white linen stationary. On the front there was the logo for the Farm and the insignia for the Blue and Gray Ball. It was all done in blue and gray lettering. Inside the cards were the names of all the dances that we would have in order. There was the waltz, the Virginia reel, the polka, the quadrille, and many others. We would host twenty-four dances throughout the evening. The more common ones like the waltz would repeat four or five times.

I found the box of felt-tipped pens I'd grabbed from the visitor center earlier that afternoon. “Next year, we should be more historically accurate and use inkwell and quills. It's too late for that now.” Setting the small box on the table next to the larger one, I said, “After you're done, place the cards in alphabetical order by last name on the table at the entrance of the tent. I'll have a seasonal worker standing there during the ball to make sure everyone finds their cards.”

Portia sat down at the table and took a pen and a large stack of dance cards from the box. “This sounds like it will be fun.”

I hoped she'd still think that when she got to dance card number 153.

Ashland frowned. “She can do this by herself. I'm sure there are better things that I need to be doing.”

I arched an eyebrow at her. “It will go more quickly if you do it together.”

Ashland pursed her lips.

“After it's done, we should be all set and you can go change for the ball. Thanks girls. I'm going to the visitor center to make sure everything is in order there for tonight.” I headed for the tent's exit.

Unsurprisingly, Ashland followed me. She frowned. “What is she doing here?”

“She wanted something to do and she's helping out. I thought you would be glad about it. Those are a lot of dance cards. Without her help, you'd be writing them all yourself.”

“She shouldn't even be here. She's not a Farm employee.” Ashland frowned at her notebook.

“No, but today she is a Farm volunteer. Ashland, do you have a problem with Portia?”

“No,” she stepped back, bumping into the side of the tent. “Why would you ask that?”

“I don't know,” I shrugged. “Because you're all uptight that she's helping you with the dance cards?”

“I don't have a problem with her. I don't have any problem at all.”

“Great.” I pointed to the tent. “Because those dance cards aren't going to write themselves.”

She turned and reentered the tent.

I removed my cell phone from my pocket and scrolled through the numbers until I found the one for Detective Brandon.

“Brandon,” her sharp voice came through the phone's speaker.

“Detective Brandon. This is Kelsey Cambridge.”

“What do you want, Ms. Cambridge?”

Okay
, I thought.
Still not one for small talk.

“I wondered if you got any results back yet on Wesley Mayes's toxicology report.”

“We have preliminary findings.” She said nothing more.

I gritted my teeth. “Can you share those results with me?”

“I have no reason to. You're not next of kin.”

“I know that, but I think it would be helpful to know what caused his death. If it was poison as the police chief suspected, I need to know if that poison was found on Barton Farm grounds. If it was, I need to remove it as soon as possible.”

“Oh,” she said a little less sharply—just a little less. “I suppose in that case it would be all right if I told you. It's not a secret.”

“So?”

“He ingested lily of the valley. Highly toxic. He must have eaten if right before he marched on the battlefield. The medical examiner said that he had never seen anyone consume such a large amount of it. It was clearly evident in his stomach. It will go to the lab for confirmation, but the medical examiner is very confident that the test results will support his theory. Official results will take several weeks. I'd appreciate it if you kept this information to yourself.”

I suddenly felt sick. I knew lily of the valley was deadly poisonous, and we had plants growing in the medicinal garden under lock and key. In the nineteenth century, families like the Bartons would have used it as medicine for everything from heart failure to pink eye. “He's sure that's what it was?”

“Yes,” the annoyance was back in her voice. “The medical examiner is a very thorough investigator. You do know that you have a large number of poisonous plants at Barton Farm.”

“They're part of our medicinal garden. Visitors can't go in there without staff, and the gate is always locked when there's not an employee around. The gardener keeps a close eye on those plants. We wanted to show what would really be in an Ohio garden during the nineteenth century, and some of those plants are poisonous.”

She sniffed. “History at what cost? I'm en route to collect some samples from your gardens.” She hung up.

I shivered.

Across the green, I saw Shepley weeding in his garden. He seemed to be content, or as content as was possible for Shepley.

The medicinal garden was just outside the main garden. The gate was indeed closed and locked.

Shepley tossed a handful of weeds into his bushel basket. He didn't wear gloves while he worked. Shepley thought gloves were for wimps. “What do you want?”

I folded my arms. “Has anyone one been inside the medicinal garden during the reenactment?”

He eyed me and straightened up as much as he could with his ruined back. “It's been open off and on throughout the weekend, but I've always been there.”

“Have you taken any plants from it?”

Bent at the waist, he hobbled to a garden bench a few feet away and sat. “I take plants out of it from time to time, but I haven't removed anything recently.”

“Has anyone else?”

“How could they without my permission? No one does anything in my garden without my permission.”

I frowned. How could he be sure? He didn't live here. He didn't spend all his time here.

“But if you think someone has been in the garden, we can check.” He stood.

I followed him to the corner of the enormous garden at a painfully slow pace. When he reached the medicinal garden gate, he fumbled to get the key into the lock. I resisted grabbing the keys away from him and doing it myself when I realized that Shepley's hands shook. His fingers were covered in dirt. The nails were jagged and cracked from digging in the dry summer soil. He wasn't a young man any longer and hadn't been for as long as I had known him. I frowned. How much longer could he keep up the backbreaking work of caring for the gardens? He would have to tell me when it was time. I would never suggest that he wasn't up to it. That would just make him hold on that much longer.

The fence around the garden was six-foot-high iron work made by a local blacksmith who sometimes visited the Farm as a special event. It wasn't impossible to climb, but the nasty looking spikes at the top of each fence post were a pretty good deterrent. At least I thought they were until I realized someone must have gotten into the garden to harvest enough lily of the valley to kill Wesley. It could have even been Wesley himself.

The gate swung inward with a creak.

Shepley moved down the woodchip-covered walkway. “All seems well.” He glanced over his hunched shoulder. “Why the sudden interest?” Before I could answer, he said, “What's this?”

“What?” I caught up with him.

Shepley crouched next to a garden bed. His knees cracked as he moved. I winced at the sound.

“It looks like someone yanked a third of my lily of the valley out of the ground. It was done blooming of course, but the plant withers and dies back on its own accord. That feeds the bulbs for healthy plants next spring.” He spat. “Scoundrels. First my bees are violated and now my garden.” He jerked upright, and his knees cracked again. “You can't let this happen! These people shouldn't be on the Farm!” He shook his fist.

I took two steps back from him and held up my hands. “Shepley, you need to calm down.”

“Calm down? It's not your life's work someone is playing with or killing people with,” he growled.

“What do you mean?”

“I heard the symptoms that the soldier who died in the middle of the field exhibited. The tourists love to talk about the grotesque. What's more grotesque than death? I'm just a simple gardener to them. I'm scenery and they don't notice me.” He pointed at the ground where the lily of the valley should have been. “Lily of the valley is toxic. Eat a few leaves, and you're dead.”

“Who can get into the medicinal garden?” I asked.

“You and I have the only keys,” he said.

He slipped his hand into the hip pocket of his overalls and produced a key ring. “Here's mine. Where's yours?”

I knew where my keys were. They were in the key box in my office. My office, which is always unlocked and had been unlocked during the entire reenactment.

I left Shepley muttering to himself in his prized medicinal garden and headed to the visitor center.
More and more I was convinced that whoever killed Maxwell and maybe Wesley was connected to the Farm. That person knew where everything was. The reenactors hadn't had the time to get to know the Farm so well. I frowned. My only Farm suspect left
was Shepley, but he had seemed genuinely upset when he thought his garden had been touched. I couldn't know for sure, but I didn't think he was acting.

I waved to Judy and the rest of the gift shop staff as I crossed the lobby. I was relieved to see Chase was no longer in my office. I had too many thoughts about murder rolling around in my head to be bothered with how I felt about him.

I went straight to the key cabinet on the wall beside my bookshelf, the same bookshelf that Detective Brandon had leaned on. I opened the cabinet. The key to the medicinal garden was there right where I expected it to be. I took it off its hook and slipped it into the pocket of my jeans.

Thirty-five

“Hello, hello, hello!” Laura
crowed as she entered my house at five sharp with a garment bag.

I had just beaten her to my house after overseeing the caterers set up for the food for the ball. It would be a spectacular event if I could shake the melancholy feeling I'd had ever since Detective Brandon told me Wesley had been poisoned by lily of the valley.

I placed a hand on the side of my head, and Frankie jumped off my lap.

“Oh, sorry,” my best friend said. “Do you still have a headache?”

“Just a little one.” I didn't tell her, but my headache was more from guilt about Wesley's death than from being walloped over the back of the head the night before.

“Maybe you shouldn't go to the ball tonight.”

I jumped off of the couch. “Are you crazy? This is what I've worked for all year. I'm going.”

She beamed. “Okay. Then we have to make you look the part.” She dropped the garment bag on the couch. “I have your dress. I can hardly wait for you to see it.”

“Okay,” I whimpered.

She unzipped the garment page. “Ta-da!”

The dress was a satin royal blue with lace at the collar and bodice. “It's very pretty.”

“Pretty?” She sniffed. “It's gorgeous. You'll be the belle of the ball, as you should be.” She rubbed her hands together. “Let's do your hair first.” She set out her makeover arsenal on the kitchen table. Makeup, hairspray, brushes, combs, tweezers—I didn't want to know what those were for—and pulled out a dining chair.

“Can't I just wear a braid? They braided their hair back then.”

She shook her finger at me. “Little girls did, not ladies. And we're going to make you a lady. Sit.”

Resigned to my fate, I sat on the chair.

She ran the brush through my hair. “The reenactment has gone beautifully today. You'd be so proud, Kelsey, not a dead body on the place.”

“That's something to strive for. But I think you're being a little too generous. Chase did get into a fistfight with another reenactor.”

She shivered. “I'm sorry I missed it. How are you feeling? I've watched you fly all over the grounds today, which you probably shouldn't have been doing with your head injury.”

“My head injury is a bump, and Ashland helped out a lot with the ball.”

“There was a lot of chatter in the camps today about Chase carrying you through the encampment late last night. Some thought they were watching a scene out of
Gone with the Wind
.”

I groaned. I felt my cheeks grow hot. I must have looked so pathetic cradled in Chase's arms like a damsel in distress, which I most certainly was not. “He wouldn't let me walk,” I said in my own defense.

She teased my hair. “I'm not knocking it. If a fine man like that wanted to carry me around, he's welcome to. Of course, I don't weigh a hundred pounds like you do, so I don't know if he could pick me up.”

“Please, I don't weigh anywhere close to a hundred pounds, and he could pick you up no problem,” I said. I hated it when Laura commented on her weight. She was beautiful just the way she was.

“Maybe he would sling me over his shoulder, pirate style,” she chuckled.

“Ow,” I cried.

“Sorry, I must have gotten a little carried away with my teasing. Your dramatic rescue is all anyone has talked about today.”

“I bet. That's so embarrassing.”

She selected a round brush from the table. “A normal woman would be thrilled with having a handsome man rescue her.”

“I'm not accustomed to being rescued and can't say that I like it.” I winced as she tugged on my hair. What was she doing back there?

“You should be glad that Chase came along. Who knew how long you might have been down there, or if whoever put you there was on his way back to finish the job?”

I shivered. I knew I was lucky, but I had someone to thank more than Chase: Jason. I hoped he wouldn't leave now that he knew I knew he was living on the Farm. That's not what I wanted. “Have you seen Jason today?”

“No, but I hardly see him on a normal day, and this is not a normal day.”

“Far from it,” I agreed.

“Why do you think you were hit on the head?”

“Whoever killed Maxwell must think I'm too close to discovering who he or she is. The truth is, they're wrong. I couldn't be further from knowing who the killer is.”

“I think you should pay attention to the warning. The reenactors will be leaving tomorrow. Let it be.”

“I can't,” I said.

She sighed. “I can see from the look on your face that you're determined to ignore me.”

“Maybe we can run through the suspects?”

She sighed again. “Fine.”

“There is Jamie the business partner.”

“What's his problem?”

“He and Maxwell were the main investors in that failed construction project. They lost a huge amount of money in the mall on Kale Road, but the police chief gave him an unbreakable alibi. He's out.”

She waved her brush in the air. “Besides, if Maxwell was going to be given power over millions of dollars from Cynthia, why would Jamie knock him off? Now he has no money and a lot of useless land.”

“Good point. There's Shepley.”

“Shepley?”

“He is in charge of the beautification project for New Hartford. Cynthia was planning to support it, but Maxwell promised not to.”

She grimaced. “I'm glad I wasn't there when Shepley was told. Did his head start to spin?”

“And it was his bees that were used for the murder. Plus, I learned today that Wesley died from eating lily of the valley.” At her silence, I added. “Lily of the valley is a toxic plant, and Shepley has a crop of it in his medicinal garden.”

“That garden is built like a high-security prison.”

I nodded.

“Wouldn't that be kind of dumb for him to use his own bees and his own flowers? And I can't see Shepley plotting such a methodical murder. I mean, it's never any secret what the guy is thinking or feeling. He screams in your face on a regular basis, and you're his boss. I would think it would be much more likely if he grabbed one of the soldiers' rifles and shot Maxwell in the heart in front of the entire Farm.”

I had to agree that Laura had given a pretty good assessment of Shepley's character. “There's the fiancée, Portia.”

“If she was marrying him for his money, she won't get any now. If I were her, I would have waited a few years after the wedding and then poisoned him.”

“Should I be concerned that you've thought out the best way to kill people?”

She grinned. “Not at all.”

“She's also Wesley's ex-girlfriend. She dumped Wesley so she could marry Maxwell for money.”

“See, there you go. She'd have no reason to kill her sugar daddy until he put a wedding band on her finger.” She selected another brush. I was beginning to wonder how many brushes were necessary in a normal woman's daily routine. I was more of a wash and braid girl. Laura waved the paddle brush back and forth over my head as she spoke. “Wesley is the young man the police believe is behind it.”

“Right.”

“The confession letter that the chief found sounded pretty convincing.”

“Did you see it?”

“Heard about it. You know how everyone talks around here.”

“I'm not convinced…” I trailed off. “Then there's Chase.”

She yanked on my hair. “The Union hero? No way.”

“Ow!” I cried. “Be careful. I did just get knocked on the back of the head with a brick.”

“I'm sorry.” She pulled the brush through much more slowly this time. “If you didn't braid your hair so tightly, you wouldn't have these kinks.” She clicked her tongue. “How can you even think it was Chase after he saved you?”

“Saving has nothing to do with it. He has an alibi,” I said. I told her about Chase's sleeping at the firehouse the night of Maxwell's murder.

“I knew he couldn't have done it.” She pushed four bobby pins into my head. “Wanna know what I think?”

“Not really,” I said as another bobby pin jabbed into my scalp.

“Too bad. You're going to hear it anyway.” She removed the last bobby pin from her mouth. “I think you're afraid of him.”

“What?” I jerked forward in my seat.

She pulled me back me by the shoulder. “Don't move, you'll ruin my masterpiece. And I'm right; you're afraid of Chase.”

“That the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard.”

“You're afraid of him because you're attracted to him and don't know what to do about it. You've been in love with Eddie since you were fourteen years old. It must be odd to have romantic feelings for someone else.”

I stared at my hands clenched together on my lap. How was Laura able to nail me so well? It wasn't until she said this that I knew it was true. I had only ever loved Eddie. I'd never looked at another man in that way, even since the divorce. Hayden, the Farm, and even my father were distractions from finding someone else. Little did I know I would stumble over someone playing dead on my pastureland. But even if Laura was right, that didn't mean I had to admit it to her.

“I
might
find him attractive.”

She laughed. “If that's as far as you are willing to confess, I will take it.” She patted my hair. “My masterpiece is done. Now get upstairs into your dress.”

In my bedroom, I stepped in the hoop skirt and slipped on the corset. Laura stood behind me. “This is going to hurt.”

I held up my hand to stop her. “Don't pull too tight.”

“I just pull tight enough to get the dress on you. It's tiny. There wasn't a whole lot of selection in the costume closets. Most of the women's clothing was everyday dresses and aprons.” She pulled on the corset strings. “Suck it in.”

I took a deep breath as she pulled the string. I felt like my ribs were about to crack. “Okay, okay! That's tight enough.”

“Are you sure? With another tug, I can take your waist down another inch.”

“No. This is fine. Breathing is really important to me.”

She tied the strings. “Okay, it's my turn. Pull as tight as you can. I'm willing to sacrifice breathing.”

I rolled my eyes and stepped behind her. I yanked on her corset strings with all I had.

“Ow!” she cried.

I froze. “Am I hurting you?”

“Nope,” she winced. “That was just right. Tie it off.”

I did as I was told and she admired herself in the mirror. “I have to say I'm looking pretty good. I would wear this every day if it didn't threaten to break one of my ribs or cause internal bleeding.”

I lifted her heavy dress over her head and helped her into it. I did the buttons up her back. “You're beautiful.”

“I'm not bad, but I can't wait to see you in your dress.” She picked the blue gown off of the bed and slipped it over my head. With practiced fingers she fastened the dozens of cloth buttons up the back.

Side by side we stared in the mirror. “Don't we look like a couple of fine ladies?” she asked. “I feel like Robert E. Lee or someone equally grand should escort us to the ball.”

I arched an eyebrow. “Not Grant?”

“That guy was a drunk.”

I twirled in front of the mirror, a move I wouldn't have done in front of any person other than Laura. I had to admit, I didn't look half bad, but Laura—with her peaches and cream skin and sparkling green eyes—was gorgeous. Her dress was off the shoulder, like mine. The cut made me look smaller, but it enhanced all Laura's curves. She would have a full dance card tonight.

“Well, we'll have to be satisfied with my father as an escort.” I glanced at the clock on my bedside table. “He should be home soon from his matinee performance of
Hamlet
.”

“Works for me.” She examined my dress. “I did a wonderful job making you up. This might be some of my best work. You look like Scarlett O'Hara come to life.”

I snorted. “Right.”

“No really, Kelsey, you are beautiful. Chase Wyatt doesn't stand a chance.”

I peered into the full-length mirror. Laura was wrong. It was I who didn't stand a chance.

“Hello, hello,” my father called from the bottom of the stairs. “I'm home and changed from my fifteen-century attire to my nineteenth-century. Are you ladies ready for the ball?”

Dad waited for us at the bottom of the stairs. He wore his Union dress uniform—all of it for the occasion of the ball. He grinned. “My. Aren't I lucky man to escort you two beauties to the ball?”

“Thank you, Mr. Renard.” Laura looped her arm through his.

Tiffin placed his head on his pillow. He didn't like the idea of being left at home during the ball, but I couldn't have him barking at everyone or trying to herd the guests during dances.