The Final Reveille: A Living History Museum Mystery Page 14

  Chase’s face was neutral like nothing had happened, and he stood up. “I think you should hit the sack right now. If you wait much longer, you won’t be able to lift your rifle tomorrow. We’ve got two battles, remember?”

  Wesley shrugged as if what happened tomorrow didn’t matter to him.

  “Let’s go, big guy.” Chase lifted Wesley up on his feet and slung Wesley’s arm over his shoulder like he weighed no more than Hayden. Then I remembered that Chase was an EMT. He was an expert at picking up people. I nudged my foot against a tree root as an idea crept into the back of my brain. If he was an expert at moving people and strong enough to carry Wesley, who was much taller and heavier than Maxwell, he would have had no trouble dropping Maxwell into the brick pit with the bees.

  The problem was I didn’t want Chase to be the killer. I was beginning to like him. Still, I knew I shouldn’t trust myself where men were concerned. I had loved Eddie and look how that had turned out.

  I left off toying with the tree root, stood, and dusted off the back of my jeans, then swatted at two more mosquitoes that dive-bombed my face.

  “Kelsey, if you would carry his lantern, we can make it back to his tent,” Chase said.

  I picked up the gas-lit lantern and led the way back into the encampment. The sun had set while we talked. Above the trees, a blue and purple cloud bruised the western sky. There was still a large crowd of men, women, and children around the bonfire, cooking hotdogs and toasting more marshmallows. The acrid smell of campfire hung in the air, reminding me of summer camp as a child.

  In the encampments, all of the white tents on the Confederate and Union side looked identical, and although I had been to Wesley’s tent during the day, I lost my way after twilight.

  “How do we know which tent is his?” I asked.

  “I know,” Chase said. He made a sharp turn down a row of white tents and paused at the one at the end. It was the closest tent to the village part of the farm. In the middle of the night, Wesley had a clear path to the village. He could slip away and no one would have been the wiser.

  He could slip away and commit murder.

  Chase helped Wesley to the mat in the middle of the tent. Pieces of white cotton sheet made up the bed. It didn’t look particularly comfortable, but it must have been better than sleeping on the bare ground.

  Wesley snored as Chase swung his feet on the bed. He removed the other soldier’s boots and set them neatly at the end of the bed. Again I was struck with how dedicated to detail the reenactors were. The inside of the tent was spare. It held the mat and a small folding table, and two more rifles. I wondered how many of those rifles he had brought to the reenactment.

  Chase waved me out of the tent, carrying Wesley’s cider jug. As most of the reenactors were still at the bonfire, it was quiet around the tents. A faint hoot from an owl came from somewhere in the trees. I couldn’t make out exactly where the bird was.

  Chase dumped the remainder of the jug in the grass. “That was an informative conversation.”

  The smell of alcohol burned the inside of my nose. I held up the lantern, so I could better see his face. In the firelight, I noticed that his eyes weren’t just chocolate brown, as I had believed. Golden flecks peppered his irises.

  I lowered the lantern. “I hope you didn’t get poor Wesley drunk just to get that information. He’s going to be miserable tomorrow. He was miserable today.”

  “He probably will be, but I’m sure someone has some aspirin hidden somewhere in his camp that they can give Wesley to take the edge off. And I didn’t get him drunk.” He smiled. “He was already halfway there when I found him and more than willing to talk about Portia. For him it was like a therapy session. I didn’t even charge him. It was a deal all around.”

  I wasn’t so sure. Would Wesley regret what he told us about Maxwell and Portia tomorrow? Then again, would he even remember?

  “I visited Cynthia today,” I said and then mentally kicked myself for telling Chase that.

  “How is she?”

  “Distraught,” I said, realizing that it was the perfect word to describe my friend’s grief.

  “I’m sorry. You’re close to her?”

  I nodded. “She’s the Farm’s benefactress, but she’s also like an aunt to me. She’s done so much for Hayden and me to make our lives on the Farm better. She went way above the call to make sure we were happy here. I love how much she cares for the Farm and takes my opinions and suggestions into account. I hate for her to be going through this.”

  Chase set Wesley’s jug beside the entrance to the tent. “I knew I was right back there.”

  “What do you mean?” I folded my arms.

  “When I said that you were a kind person, you are. You’re concerned about Cynthia when obviously Barton Farm has a better chance of survival now that Maxwell is dead.”

  “Don’t let your uncle hear you say that. He’s already convinced I killed Maxwell. I’m surprised they haven’t arrested me yet.”

  “That’s because Candy is set on proving I’m the killer.” He sighed. “She would love to arrest me. She fantasizes about it, I’m sure.”

  “What is the deal with the two of you?”

  He didn’t say anything for a couple of beats. “She’s my ex-girlfriend.”

  “I guessed that much, but why does she hate you so much?”

  He shrugged. “I broke it off.”

  “Why did you do that?” I heard myself ask even though it was a deeply personal question, one I had no right to ask an acquaintance, which Chase certainly was and would most likely always remain.

  “We grew apart and wanted different things. We were about to get engaged and had the talk about kids. She doesn’t want any; I love kids. I knew if I married her I would be okay with that for a few years, but I would eventually resent her if I didn’t have children. I didn’t want it to come to that, so I ended it.”

  “I didn’t expect such an honest answer.”

  He grinned. “I’m a pretty honest guy. You’d know that if you’d let me help you find out what happened to Maxwell.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I hope that I proved here that I can be helpful.”

  “I don’t know that Wesley would have been that forthcoming with me,” I admitted. “I saw him earlier today when he was sober, and he barely said a word about Portia.”

  “So you admit that I was helpful.”

  “I guess so.” I shrugged.

  “Are we a team?”

  I chewed on lip. Maybe Chase was right, maybe I did need his help getting down to the bottom of Maxwell’s death. He could get closer to the reenactors than I could, but could I trust him? This wasn’t a game. My freedom and possibly the custody of Hayden were at stake.

  He held out his hand. “Let’s shake on it.”

  I stared at his hand for a long moment.

  “Come on. It won’t hurt.”

  I shook his hand, and he held mine much longer than anyone making a pact would have.

  “Are you going to tell me why you’re asking about Jamie Houck?” Chase asked.

  I frowned.

  Twenty-one

  The morning after the conversation with Wesley, I wanted to see the property that Maxwell planned to save with Cynthia’s fortune, and I wanted to do it without Chase. I’d agreed to work with him to solve Maxwell’s murder, but I didn’t have to tell him everything. Since I was keeping secrets, I could only assume he was too.

  Vacant lots, empty homes, and struggling cash advance businesses dotted Kale Road. Several fast food restaurants languished on the street, but there was little else.

  I rolled to a stop next to the largest vacant lot. An eight-foot-high chain-link fence surrounded the three acres. When I was a child, there had been two rundown apartment complexes there. They were eventually condemned because of asbestos in the bui
ldings. They stood on the property until four years ago, when they were knocked down and the land was cleared.

  I turned and drove down the side street. There was the gate entrance. The gate stood wide open. The lock was cut and dangled from the chain link. Maybe someone planned to rob the construction site. It seemed to me the only thing you could make off easily with was a rock or a pocketful of dirt. I drove through the open gate. The grounds looked like the surface of the moon. Ten- and twelve-foot-high piles of dirt and rubble were scattered haphazardly around a bulldozer, which appeared not to have moved in months.

  It was hard to believe a mall would be successful in such a place and on such a forgotten street. It would have to take a strong will and a lot of money to make it happen. I had to respect Maxwell for wanting to bring construction here to revitalize a struggling part of the town. What a gamble it must have been.

  As I sat surveying the bleak scenery, a black sedan with tinted windows pulled up alongside my car. The driver’s-side window powered down. The man behind the wheel wore an Oxford shirt and sunglasses tinted the same dark shade as his windows. “Can I help you?”

  The no trespassing sign was clearly visible on the fence. Crud. I shouldn’t have even turned into here.

  “Sorry,” I said. “I was just turning around.”

  “Nobody is supposed to be in here.”

  “I know, I’m sorry.”

  “You shouldn’t be here. This is a construction site.”

  “The gate was open, and I needed to go back the way I came. I thought this was a quick and easy place to turn around. Again, I’m sorry. I’ll be on my way.”

  A look of annoyance passed over his face. “One of our demo guys must have left it open. I will have to report it.”

  “Is this your property?”

  He removed his sunglasses for a better look at me. “I’m the foreman.”

  “Is construction starting again on the property?” I said, trying to act casual. “I live nearby and would love a mall so close to home.”

  His face relaxed. “Do me a favor and tell your councilman that. Maybe then I can get my permits.”

  “Did the town council shut down the work site?” I smiled. “I’m sorry, that was an intrusive question.”

  “That was part of it. There were bigger reasons the job site shut down.” He gritted his teeth. “Much bigger. We thought that all that was behind us. Construction was about to start on Monday. Now, I don’t know. Things have changed.”

  “That’s too bad. Do you mean Maxwell Cherry’s death?”

  “What?” he snapped. “Who are you exactly?”

  “Oh, I’m Kelsey,” I said, hoping that I wouldn’t regret giving him my real name. “What did you say your name was?”

  “I didn’t, and it shouldn’t matter to you if you were really here to turn your car around. How do you know Maxwell?”

  “I don’t know him well. His aunt is a friend. I visited her after I heard the news.”

  He nodded. “Cynthia is a good lady, much better than the rest of us.” He said this like it was significant. Did he not consider himself a good person? “I think our conversation is over, and I will ask you leave. Now.”

  I started my car. “Sure.” I waved as if we were old friends. “It was nice to see you.”

  I could feel the man’s eyes through my rear window as I pulled out onto the side street.

  As a drove out of the fence, I passed a police car. Detective Candy Brandon was in the driver seat, and she saw me.

  My heart rate picked up. I hadn’t technically done anything wrong. Okay, I trespassed on the construction site, but I was there with the foreman.

  But Detective Brandon wouldn’t see it that way. By now, she must know the construction site’s connection to Maxwell Cherry, and seeing me having a conversation with his foreman just made me a whole lot more suspicious in her eyes.

  As if to prove my point, I saw flashing lights in my rearview mirror. I wasn’t speeding. I didn’t have a taillight out. I was a murder suspect.

  Detective Brandon rolled her cruiser to a stop behind me and got out of the car. She took her time walking up to my window. She wanted to make me nervous.

  I powered the window down and waited.

  She leaned on the roof of my car.

  “Something wrong, detective?” I asked.

  “I have to say I was surprised to see you at Maxwell Cherry’s construction site this morning.”

  Her face was so close to me, I could see the freckles on her nose. I bet she hated those freckles. They made her cute. Detective Brandon wasn’t someone to relish being considered cute. She would consider it a liability.

  “Errands,” I said, gesturing to the groceries in the back seat of my car. “I wanted to get my shopping done before the Farm opened this morning. We have two battles today, and tomorrow is the Blue and Gray Ball.” I smiled. “I know the chief will be there since he’s a reenactor, but will you be attending the ball? Consider yourself invited. Just keep in mind, nineteenth-century ball attire is required.”

  She frowned. “I can’t say I have ball attire that would work for any century.”

  I opened my mouth again, but she interrupted me. “Who were you talking to at the job site?”

  I ran my hand over the steering wheel. “The job’s foreman. He just happened to drive up when I was turning around.”

  “Am I supposed to believe that?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Because it is true.”

  She pursed her lips. “I will check your story out with the foreman.”

  “I’m sure you will.”

  “I hope you’re not playing detective.”

  “Whatever would give you that idea?” I asked.

  She pushed off the car and folded her arms. “Take my advice: leave the investigating up to the police.”

  “You got it,” I lied.

  She frowned. “I have another piece of advice for you too. Stay away from Chase Wyatt. He’s trouble.”

  I dropped my hands to my lap. “Why would you talk to me about Chase?”

  “I’ve seen you two speaking at the Farm. The guy is slick and he’ll be able to make you believe what he wants.” She squinted as a cloud moved out of the way of the sun.

  “Is that what he did to you? Did he make you believe something?” I asked before I could stop myself. As soon as the question was out of my mouth I regretted it. Way to go, Kel. You just made her hate you more.

  She glared at me so hard that all of the cuteness I saw earlier in her face disappeared. “I know him. I’m sure he promised you all kinds of things. Don’t believe him or you will be sorry.”

  Sorry because of Chase or sorry because of you? I wasn’t brave enough to ask.

  She turned to go. “You leave the Farm again, you tell me.”

  I snorted as she walked back to her car. Like I was going to tell her every time I left the Farm. Not happening.

  In her car, Detective Brandon gunned her engine and sped in front of me. Her cruiser disappeared around a corner.

  I didn’t head straight back to the Farm. There was another address that I wanted to check on first. As I drove, I kept an eye on my rearview mirror. I half expected to find Detective Brandon had doubled back around to follow me. She either wasn’t following me or she was so good at it that I didn’t see her.

  I pulled into one of the fast food parking lots and idled. I picked up the personnel file that Ashland had pulled for me the day before. The tab read Jason Smith. I opened the file and skimmed his application. It was sparse. I hired him when I saw him work with the animals at the county fair. I had a gut instinct that he was the right one for the job. I had little else to go on other than a two-year vocational degree in animal husbandry. He was also the only one who was willing to take the dismal pay I was able to offer. I typed his home address into my GPS o
n the dashboard.

  “Address not found,” the automatic voice said.

  I frowned and typed in the address again.

  “Address not found.”

  The address on Jason’s application didn’t exist, at least as far as some satellite orbiting the Earth was concerned. Maybe it was new construction or something and just not in the GPS yet. But I knew that wasn’t true because Jason’s application was two years old.

  The application said that Jason lived on Route 15. I knew where that was, so at least I could get close enough to where his home should be to confirm my suspicions. I told the GPS to find a store near Route 15. It came up with a drugstore. It was a start.

  I ran my hands back and forth over the steering wheel. I shouldn’t be away from the Farm in the middle of the reenactment. Too much could go wrong when I wasn’t there. But then again, if I didn’t find out who killed Maxwell, the Farm was doomed anyway.

  I turned onto Route 15. The drugstore came and went. Beyond it there were three car dealerships. The businesses fell away. There were no houses, duplexes, or apartment buildings on the street. Unless Jason lived on the top floor of one of the car dealerships, I could not see how he lived there at all. That didn’t add up anyway because the dealerships had a different number of digits than the house number he’d written down.

  Time to face facts. Jason didn’t live on Route 15. Jason lived in the barn on Barton Farm. The question was, what was I going to do about it? Since his application was two years old, it proved that he had been lying about his living situation for at least that long and maybe living at the Farm just as long.

  Hayden and I lived on the Farm grounds too. How had Jason been able to avoid me after hours for all these years? I knew the barn was in the village on the other side of the road, but still, Hayden and I would often go for walks in the village after hours.

  My shoulders drooped. How long had this young man needed a place to live and hide?

  Twenty-two

  I got back to the Farm just as the first cannon fire broke out for the morning battle. Boom! The blast reverberated through the valley.