The Final Reveille: A Living History Museum Mystery Page 7

  The Farm’s two oxen, Betty and Mags, who hadn’t yet been moved to the far pasture for the day, stared at me as I dashed toward the barn door. They weren’t used to having anyone other than Jason in their space. Although the girls were known for being gentle, I didn’t linger to find out how they viewed my visit.

  I jogged up the dirt ramp into the barn, pausing just inside the doorway to let my eyes adjust. There was no electricity. Jason worked by sunlight and battery-powered lanterns when he needed extra light. “Jason?” I whispered. I sidestepped what looked like a dropping from one of the oxen.

  Miss Muffins, our head barn cat, yowled at me and wove in and out of my legs. Many times I wished that Hayden had fallen in love with this lovely calico and asked us to take her home instead of Frankie, the terror of the Western Reserve.

  I bent to scratch her behind the ear. When I straightened, I whispered again, “Jason?”

  Barn Boy materialized out of the shadows of a stall. He moved silently. Many of the seasonal staff complained that Jason was creepy because of how stealthily he moved and because he rarely spoke, even when asked a direct question. Laura joked that he had been raised in the middle of the park by wolves. I told her that she was ridiculous. Besides, there hadn’t been wolves living in Ohio for generations.

  Jason waited and watched me. His movements were tentative around people, even me, and Hayden and I were the closest thing to human friends he had. Around the livestock he was different. I had witnessed him approach a bucking horse with a steady hand and firm stride, yet he tiptoed toward me like he expected a lashing. Jason didn’t trust most people. Many times, I wondered what had happened to him when he was a child that made him so skittish. But I knew asking him would be a waste. He wouldn’t answer me if I did.

  “Are they gone?” he whispered finally.

  Miss Muffins pranced over to him. He bent over, picked her up, and cradled her in his arms. The cat purred, sharing in the comfort Jason found by holding her.

  “Is who gone?” I stepped farther into the barn, wanting to be able to read Jason’s expressions, but he stood in the shadows.

  “The police.” His voice was scratchy from underuse. “They were in here about an hour ago. I hid in the hayloft.”

  “Why did you do that?” I asked.

  “I—I didn’t want to talk to them. I have nothing to say.” He placed Miss Muffins on a hay bale and picked up a bucket of horse feed.

  “A man died in the brick pit last night.”

  He carried the bucket to the horse stall. “I know.”

  “The police will want to ask you what you might have seen.” I paused. “And they’ll ask you to leave the barn. The chief doesn’t want anyone on this side of the road until the village is reopened.”

  “I can’t leave my barn.” He said it like Shepley defending his garden, but Jason’s proclamation was more earnest, as if he were physically unable to leave the barn and animals. “They won’t want to know what I know.”

  My skin prickled. “What do you know?”

  He poured the bucket of feed into a feed bag hanging just inside the horse stall. Scarlet, the Farm’s mare, rubbed her nose into his palm before burying her head into her feed bag.

  “Jason, did you sleep here last night?” I asked. I knew the teenager sometimes slept in the barn when one of the animals was sick, but now I wondered if it was a more regular thing.

  He hung the bucket from a nail on the stall’s outer wall.

  I perched on the hay bale next to Miss Muffins. Even though I was half a foot shorter than Jason, I thought I might look less intimidating if I sat. “Were you here last night?”

  He nodded. This conversation was going great. I bit my tongue to hold back the urge to reprimand him for not answering my questions directly. That would only make him close down more.

  I set Miss Muffins in my lap, and the small cat curled up into a purring ball of fur. I stroke her back for a couple of seconds before I asked, “Did you see anything?”

  He picked up a garden hose to fill water buckets for the animals. “No, but I heard something.”

  I barely heard his whisper over the sound of rushing water. “What?”

  He released the nozzle. “I heard a scream.”

  My pulse quickened. “And?”

  “And that was all.” He picked up one of the buckets. “I figured that it was one of the Civil War people. I didn’t want to go out there and see them.” He wouldn’t meet my eyes. “That’s why I stayed last night. I knew the animals would be scared with all the noise coming from the reenactment camps.”

  My heart sank. Jason had had the perfect opportunity to witness the murder and clear my name, but he hid instead. I couldn’t blame him. In his place I would assume any noise came from the reenactors too, although I would have investigated because I’m naturally nosey.

  “What time would you say you heard the scream?”

  “It was close to one in the morning. It woke Miss Muffins and me up. It woke up Scarlet and the oxen too. It took a little while for all the animals to calm down.”

  “Was it just one scream?”

  “Yes, only one.”

  “Did you make out any conversation? Any other noise at all?”

  He shook his head. “I thought I imagined it, like it was a dream, but when I saw the animals were awake and agitated, I knew I hadn’t dreamed it at all.”

  “Did you notice anything else strange?” I asked.

  “No. Miss Muffins and I didn’t venture out to see what was going on. The scream was short, which made me think that it was one the reenactors loose in the village. I didn’t want to face them.”

  How I wished that he had. But then again, what if Jason had seen the killer? Would he be here today to talk about what he’d heard?

  “Kelsey, please don’t tell the police what I told you,” he begged, meeting my eyes for the first time since our conversation began. His eyes were bright green. The same shade as Miss Muffins’s.

  I frowned. “Why not?”

  “I don’t want to talk to them, the police.” He started to shake. “I can’t talk to them. I can’t.”

  Miss Muffins jumped from my lap, and I got up from the hay bale. “Jason, are you okay?”

  He ignored my question. “Can you promise?”

  I bit the inside of my cheek and found myself saying, “All right. I won’t tell them right away, but if I have no choice, I will.”

  He nodded. “Thank you.”

  “Now, you have to go home,” I said.

  “Home?” he murmured, like that was a foreign concept.

  My brow knit together. “Yes. The police don’t want any visitors or staff in the village. It might not be for very long. The chief just told me that the village might reopen as early as this afternoon. You can come back then.”

  “But the animals—”

  “Finish feeding them and then go, but if you don’t want the police to know that you’ve been here, you’d better sneak away through the woods and come out the other side of the grounds near the battlefield.”

  “I don’t want to go home.”

  “Then go somewhere else,” I said. “It won’t be long. Or you can stay and help on the other side of the road with the reenactment. We can always use an extra set of hands.”

  Jason shivered. “I’ll find someplace else to go.”

  I wasn’t surprised at his reaction. I knew the threat of having to socialize with strangers would be far worse to Jason than vacating the grounds for few hours.

  He nodded. “I’ll leave just as soon as I finish the feeding.”

  “Good,” I said, wondering all the while at Jason’s strange reaction to the word home. I made a mental note to check his personnel file to see where he lived. Now that I thought about it, it seemed that Jason was always at the Farm no matter the time, day or night.
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  I turned to go. When I stepped out of the barn, I ran right into Chase Wyatt. I bounced off his chest, and he grabbed me before I fell backward through the barn’s open door. He pulled me toward him, but I put my hands out and pushed myself away.

  “What are you doing in here?” I demanded.

  “I’m looking for you.”

  “Me? Why? And you can let me go now.” I tried to pull my arms from his grasp and resisted the strong urge to kick him in the shin or higher.

  His face flashed red. “Oh, I’m sorry.” He dropped his hands. “I need to talk to you.”

  I tugged at end of my braid and found it still intact. “Is this about the reenactment?” I looked him up and down. “I see you’re back in your medic uniform.”

  His blush deepened. “Preparing for battle, as it were.”

  I started down the path that led from the barn to the road crossing. I wanted to get Chase away from the barn and Jason as soon as possible. “The reenactment battle will happen on schedule if that’s your concern. Only the village is closed this morning. The chief believes that it will reopen this afternoon.”

  “It’s not about the reenactment or the village. At least not exactly.”

  I kept walking, and he caught up with me in one stride. Curse my short legs.

  “I want to help,” he said.

  “If you want to help with the reenactment other than being a soldier playing dead, we always welcome volunteers and can put you to work. There is a lot to do to keep this event running smoothly. I’m sure my assistant Ashland has a number of places you can pitch in.”

  “No,” he said. Now he was walking backward, so that he could look me in the eye as he talked. “I want to help you find out who killed Maxwell.”

  “I don’t have time for this.” I increased my pace, which made him walk more quickly.

  The heel of his boot caught on a root, and he toppled backward flat on his back. “Oooph!”

  I stepped over him and kept going.

  Chase scrambled to his feet. He brushed off dirt and possible ox manure—not that I would tell him that—from his uniform as he galloped to catch up with me. “I heard the chief tell you that you were the number-one suspect. I can help you with that.”

  I turned onto the pebbled path and nodded at the officer watching the road as I crossed. When Chase and I reached the other side, I said, “Thanks, but no thanks.”

  He stepped closer to me. So close that I could smell the coffee on his breath and campfire on his clothes. “Yours isn’t the only reputation and career at risk here.”

  I pulled up short, which made him stumble a few steps. I arched one eyebrow at him; it was a maneuver that used to drive my ex-husband over the edge. By the scowl on his face, it had the same effect on Chase. “Really?”

  “I want to help you and myself.”

  “Yourself?” I asked. Behind him I saw the brigades lining up with their commanding officers. The lieutenants gave orders and rallied the men—and some women dressed as privates—for the battle. Both Southern and Northern infantrymen saluted their superiors. If it hadn’t been for the occasional Farm employee driving by on a golf cart, I would have believed that we really had stepped back into 1863, moments before a scrimmage.

  “Yes, I’m a suspect too.” He searched my eyes with his chocolate ones. My eyes were also brown, but they were closer to tree bark in color. “You have to know that,” he said.

  “I don’t know that. I thought your uncle, the chief, was certain that you could do no wrong.”

  Chase grimaced. “He may have said that, but I know he’ll change his mind when he learns about my past with Maxwell.”

  “Perhaps it’s not the chief you’re worried about,” I said, arching my eyebrow for a second time. “Maybe it’s Detective Brandon.”

  He wrinkled his nose. “What did she say?”

  “What do you think she said?”

  He gave a sideways smile. “That she wished that I was in the first Confederate line in Pickett’s march in Gettysburg.”

  I folded my arms. “Oh, and why is that?”

  His smile grew broader. “Candy and I have a history.”

  “I bet.” I started walking again.

  He grabbed my arm and jerked my body backward. “Listen to me, Kelsey. We can help each other.”

  I gritted my teeth. “You had better let go of my arm or I’m going to break your hand. I’m small but you don’t want to mess with me.”

  He looked down at his hand as if surprised to see it wrapped around my forearm. He dropped his hold of me.

  I rubbed the place where he grabbed me. I could practically feel a bruise forming.

  “I’m sorry.” His brow knit together. “Did I hurt you?”

  “No,” I lied, holding my chin up. “Why do you need my help?”

  “Because this is your turf.”

  “That’s how I can help you; how can you help me? Because so far this is sounding pretty one-sided in your favor, and that doesn’t work for me.”

  He sighed. “I know the reenactors. This isn’t my first reenactment. My uncle has been dragging me to these events since I was in middle school. As a reenactor, I can move through the camps and ask questions without raising suspicions. Everyone is going to be talking about Maxwell’s death, so if I ask some subtle questions, they’ll think I’m just making conversation and passing time. Just like in real war, the time sitting around between real battles can get pretty boring.”

  “I’m not going to help you without knowing your connection to Maxwell.”

  He removed his forage cap and ran a hand through his blond hair. The hair stuck up in all directions and gave him a boyish quality that I did not trust. His playful appearance was misleading. I knew nothing about this man. He could be a stone cold killer. He was the one I found looming over Maxwell’s body after all.

  He sighed. “Okay, you win. All I will say is that I knew Maxwell. We were not friendly.”

  “I wouldn’t say that cryptic history is winning my support.” I stepped backward. “Why did you act like you didn’t know who the body was?”

  “I panicked. You found me in a very awkward position, and I knew Candy would be called in. She’s always called in when there is a suspicious death anywhere in the county.”

  “Sounds to me like Detective Brandon has it out for you.”

  “You met her,” he said. “That’s a very scary position to be in.”

  “That’s your problem, not mine. And I can’t say I blame her since you were standing over a dead body and all.” I watched him closely. “How did you know Maxwell?” I pressed.

  “From business.”

  “Business? I thought you were an EMT.”

  “I am.”

  I waited. He said no more. I shrugged as if it didn’t matter to me and kept walking. We were on the edge of camp now; much closer and reenactors would begin to overhear our conversation.

  He stepped beside me. “Now I’m in a worse spot because the chief will think that I purposely misled him by claiming I didn’t know Maxwell.”

  “Didn’t you?” I asked.

  “You aren’t making this easy either.” He slapped his cap back onto his head.

  “I see no reason to.”

  “So you don’t want my help? You’re willing to try to solve this case all on your own. What about your son?”

  “What about my son?” I snapped, jabbing him in the chest with my index finger. “Don’t you dare bring him into this!”

  He held up his hands as if in surrender. “Whoa, I’m sorry, Mama Bear.”

  “I think we’ve talked about this long enough.” I stomped away.

  Twelve

  I pulverized pebbles on the path as I marched back to the visitor center. How dare that cocky EMT bring Hayden into our conversation? I suddenly had a desperate need
to see my son. I picked up my pace and ignored reenactors who tried to wave me down with questions. I couldn’t deal with their need for gossip at the moment.

  I passed the visitor center as my phone beeped in my pocket, telling me I had a new text. It was from Justin. I’m here was all the message said.

  I made a sharp turn toward the visitor center as my former brother-in-law came of the sliding glass doors. Justin blinked in the early morning light. He was probably out late the night before at a night club or trendy bar trying to impress the ladies with his bright, shiny new law degree. Many times I wondered if Justin would ever settle down and stop being a playboy. He was handsome and smart. There was no reason he couldn’t find a decent girl who had the ability to balance her own checkbook.

  My pace slowed because Justin wasn’t alone. My ex-husband, Eddie, was with him, and so was a young woman who I didn’t know. Betraying me, I felt my heart beat pick up. Eddie, with his Gregory Peck good looks, was as handsome as ever. He was a physical therapist with his own practice in New Hartford. He wore freshly pressed chinos and a pink polo shirt with his company logo on it. But it wasn’t Eddie who made my pulse race. It was the woman ten years my junior holding his hand. A ring with a dime-sized diamond on it encircled her left ring finger. Krissie. I wished I could say this was the first time I had seen Eddie holding another young woman’s hand, but it wasn’t. The last time, we were very much married. If hand holding was his only indiscretion I might have still been married to him.

  “Suck it up,” I whispered to myself. “Justin,” I waved.

  “Kel, there you are.” Justin’s face broke into a grin. The younger of the two Cambridge men was as handsome as his brother. Just a year younger than Eddie and I, Justin had taken seven years to get through law school. I tried not to dwell on that, as I now required his legal advice.

  “Wow,” Justin said. “This is crazy. Are you really letting all these actors walk around with guns and swords?”

  “The guns aren’t loaded. The swords are blunt,” I said. “And they are called reenactors not actors.”