Kylah broke a branch from a low-growing bush and joined him in brushing back and forth across the outline of the young woman’s body who had died here so violently. Her partner had likely seen it already, but, even if she had, there was no reason for the woman to have to deal with it. Sheriff Mitchell, or someone, was going to hear from Kylah about this.
There was little to do after that except wait for Ella to emerge. Trouble sniffed at the cold remains of a campfire and a kettle that appeared to hold some type of beans, cold and congealed.
She hadn’t long to wait. Ella was composed as she stepped out of the tent. Her glance took in the campsite, touched upon the ground where Kylah and Trouble had done their best to obliterate the paint outline of her dead partner. But paint was paint and traces remained.
“Thank you,” Ella said. Grief had etched its lines onto her face.
“I noticed, of course, that you’re in uniform. Do you plan to go on with the reenactment?”
Ella’s chin lifted. “Yes. I’m doing it for Maisy.” She hesitated, “And I don’t know what else to do. There’s nothing for me to go home to. It would be difficult to go back to work for now. I can’t concentrate. I thought I’d keep my vacation for the next week as planned, stay here until I can take Maisy’s ashes home.”
A too-familiar bleakness swept through Kylah. “Would you like to move from here? We’ll help you.”
Ella looked around. “No. Maisy liked this spot. I’ll stay.”
“Tell me about her.” Kylah knew the need to talk about loss. “Tell me about Maisy.”
For the first time, Ella’s expression lightened. The change was faint but it was there. She righted a toppled stool and brought Kylah another from inside the tent. They sat together and Ella talked, how they’d met, how they’d fallen in love. Kylah listened without judgement. She understood love. And she understood loss.
“Maisy had never been in a reenactment. By the time we met, I’d become a little bit of a pro at it, at least the Indian-Settler ones. Those are most often pure massacres with one side or the other obliterated. And they’re a lot better organized than what I’ve seen here but I know this is the town’s first, so …” she took a long breath, no doubt, overwhelmed by the memories flooding her mind. “I was in one in her hometown and she came to watch. We ended up in the same bar after the last performance on the final day. I was still in uniform and a hot mess because it was the middle of summer, which sucks when you’re dressed in wool for these things but its prime time for visitors. Maisy’s a Civil War buff and she walked right up to me and started talking. Seems like we never quit talking.” Her smile held a deep sadness. “I’ll miss her forever.”
Kylah thought about the way she mixed past and present tense when talking about her partner. It would be a while before the reality sank in and, yes, Ella would miss her forever. Kylah prayed she would also find the strength to move on and make a good life for herself. “Was this your first reenactment, together?”
“No, we did a couple last year but Maisy wanted to get in on a Civil War one. This one popped up when she was online one day. She was so excited and talked me smooth into it. Not that it took much persuasion. I was game to try something different.”
Ella seemed to run out of words. “People didn’t understand us. And they didn’t like us. But I don’t see why anyone would have hurt her. I just don’t.”
“They didn’t like your lifestyle?”
“That wasn’t even it. There are like two facets of reenactors. Maisy and I are purists. Some call us stitch counters.” She grimaced. “Those in the mainstream think we go overboard with our attention to authentic detail. Some purists try to push that preference onto others but Maisy and I,” she gave a little sigh, “we care about it for ourselves but what others do is their business.”
“That’s why she was already in uniform then?”
“Yes, we’re always dressed out when we’re on camp site. We change to go into town and all, but here,” she looked around, “we’re in character always. For us, that’s part of the fun of it. Maisy did a lot of digging into old records, census reports and stuff like that, and found she’d lost ancestors from both sides of the war. We brought two sets of uniforms so we could alternate wearing Union blue and Confederate gray colors. I’m still going to do that. For her.”
“I didn’t think you could do that,” Kylah questioned. “I was told pick one or the other and turn it in. The only reason I’m dressed as Confederate is because those were the uniforms the studio had that fit me best and didn’t need alteration. I could have cared less.”
Ella smiled faintly. “We were kinda sneaky about it. We registered with two commanders, one Rebel, one Yankee and used our first names for one and middle names for the other. We’re foot soldiers so, what the hell, they’ll never sort us out from the dozens of others.”
Kylah could picture it. She sat thinking in silence and Ella watched her until she suggested, “Maybe it wasn’t who Maisy was or how she felt, North or South, purist or mainstream. Maybe it was somebody who’s mad about the reenactment and Maisy was just … here.”
“There are always people who don’t like reenactments in their town but to hurt my Maisy over it? To take her from me?”
“I guess it can feel a little like an invasion of their home to some. I don’t know. And some people are very passionate about war, whether for or against.”
“But this is history and history is important. I don’t know how many times I’ve heard, and said, if the human race doesn’t remember and learn from our mistakes, we’re destined to repeat them. War is ugly but it’s a valuable lesson in the failings of humans.”
“And in their greed and their hatred.”
“That, too,” Ella agreed. She got to her feet. “Thank you for talking to me. For listening.”
Kylah stood and Trouble twined around her boots. She held out her hand to Ella. “I’ll be here through the end of the event. If you need anything, let me know. Or Jake. We’ll help with whatever.”
Ella shook her hand and nodded then took a deep breath and walked back into the empty tent she’d shared with Maisy.
Kylah looked down at Trouble. “This sucks.” And they headed back to Jake and her horses.
* * *
What a way with words these humans have. And what a lot I have to ponder. I agree with Ella. Nothing is adding up. There are far too many hypotheses for who murdered Maisy, and why they might have done so, but none of them very strong.
I also agree with the essence of Kylah’s comment. There is nothing about this murder that seems fair or deserved. And, yes, I am of the opinion that some people need a good killing, as it were. I’m aware that sounds harsh, but I’ve seen more than my share of the ugliness that can sometimes be found in human nature. But nothing I’ve heard suggests that to have been the case with Maisy McGuire.
* * *
They were halfway back to the fairgrounds when Kylah decided she was not a fan of Civil War era clothing. At least not the military uniforms. She had no idea what the fabric was but it was hot and scratchy and bunchy in all sorts of uncomfortable places. She supposed it would be warm in the winter but, dear Lord, it would have to be suffocating in the heat of summer. With the weather mid-season, it was bearable but barely.
And the knapsack she had on her back was a real miss. She should have thought to set it aside before coming with Ella. It wasn’t large and didn’t have much in it, but it was heavy in its own right. She couldn’t imagine carrying the weight of it filled with actual provisions for a wartime march.
She heard Trouble yowl in the same instant she felt something spin her off balance. Staggering and disoriented for a moment, she thought the cat had leaped upon her back. But, no, when she regained her balance he was there at her feet. Still yowling, with his back to Kylah as he faced the woods they’d just left. Trouble’s yowl dropped to a low hiss and another kind of sound reached her, like the sound of a bullet dropping into a revolver chamber. But that was a so
und she’d heard only in the movies or on set. The thought repeated itself in her head … only in the movies. Trouble yowled again, in warning or in anger. She dropped to the ground and accepted the sound she heard was that of a second shot being fired. At her. To her consternation, the cat bounded away into the woods.
“Trouble! No!”
* * *
I stop in uncharacteristic hesitation. Uncharacteristic, for me, anyway. I do not hesitate. I act. I’m a very decisive sort of detective. However, in this instance, now that we are so near to the fairgrounds proper, there are too many people close at hand and their sounds come from too many directions. I can’t be sure of my target and I’m loath to leave Kylah alone without a clear direction lest the bold wanker should circle back. Most especially, if she’s going to continue to call after me in distress. Her unwarranted concern for me is a clear revelation to the guilty party that their attempt proved a damp squib. The sooner I get her to a secure place, the better.
Now would be a good time to employ the saltiest of Americanisms but, the fact remains, they cannot provide the satisfaction I find in good British slang. Should I find myself face to face with the miscreant who pulled that trigger, I’ll send him arse over elbow.
Of one thing, I’m certain. This was no accident and was more than a near miss. The bullet struck the bag slung from her shoulders. I shudder to acknowledge the fact but Kylah was very nearly killed while in my care. Unforgiveable to say the least.
Now to convey to Wolf that the weapon was a revolver of sorts. While I’m trained in that sort of detail, I’m not at all certain that Kylah would be able to identify the click of a revolver chamber. I missed it with the first shot, but recognized it beyond a doubt before the second was fired.
I return to my charge and find her brushing dead leaves from her hair. “Is he gone? Or she?”
Smart girl to understand I would have the answer to that. I sit on my haunches and gaze into her eyes to reassure her and she seems to understand that I would not be so calm did I feel it requisite for her to be on the run. No, at this point, it’s our scoundrel who is on the run but he can’t go far enough or fast enough. This case has now turned quite personal for me. All of my father’s training has come to the fore and shall be put into play with a diligence few can equal.
And, yes, I too realize the villain could be male or female but I cannot be bogged down in the semantics of saying he or she at every point. Until proven otherwise, I shall continue with he.
Our first order of business is to find the spent bullet. The knapsack on her back will have slowed it to some extent and, if - as I suspect – the weapon is another of the many antiquities abounding in this area, the projectile would not have traveled as far as a modern day make.
I rise, still holding her gaze with mine, and begin scratching around in the dead leaves. Her understanding is faster than I’d hoped as she gets to her feet and begins a scrutiny of the area around her. “Good idea, Trouble. We need to find that bullet.”
Kylah pauses in her search and calls someone. As she gives our general location and asks for a bit of help finding something, I’m amazed at her calm. Is it Jake or Wolf that she has called? My question is not answered when both arrive, not until I see the questioning look she shoots Jake and the shrug he gives in return.
She addresses them as one as she explains what has happened and their reactions give me a few useful curses to add to my collection. I’m both amazed and delighted when my enterprising charge describes the sound as a revolver. Kylah West is more than a pretty face and accomplished equestrian. She knows her guns.
* * *
Wolf could not have begun to peg his emotions with any accuracy as he took the knapsack from Kylah’s back and examined where the bullet had entered and where it exited. He needed to focus, he warned himself, push the personal aside and think like a lawman. But he wasn’t sure how successful that would prove, not when he could picture that projectile tearing through the smooth skin and the arteries and organs of the woman standing in front of him. His mind spun. Was this random? Was she a target?
He realized Kylah was staring at him with a startled look in her eyes and knew he’d given himself away. This woman was way more than someone he wanted to kiss again, more than someone he longed to take to bed. Way more, way fast.
“Which direction were you walking?”
She turned toward the fairgrounds and Wolf turned with her. He could see the roof of the equestrian center, glimpse the silver metal of the walls through the thin line of trees ahead. “Straight ahead, this way.”
“The bullet caught your knapsack at an angle.” His voice roughened in spite of his best effort. “You’re lucky you were wearing it.” He was lucky. “If it hadn’t spun you off balance, the second might have been a direct hit.”
Kylah turned back to him and nodded. Her eyes were shadowed. “Believe me, that thought has already crossed my mind.”
She watched as he retrieved his cell phone from his pocket. Les Mitchell was in his favorites list for quick contact, although sure as hell not because he was a personal favorite. Wolf started talking as soon as Les answered. “I have shots fired, no injuries.” Thank God. “I’m going to need some officers on the scene to help locate a needle in a haystack. Put a canine with them.” He gave their location with the arena as point of reference. “We’ll watch for you.”
As he disconnected, Jake called out to them. He and Trouble emerged from a low-growing thicket. He held out his hand with a small object in the palm. “I think this may be something we’re looking for. Not sure we’ll ever find the bullet that was shot at her.”
Kylah stared at the object in his hand and shook her head. “I have no idea what that is.”
Wolf did. “It’s an unused linen cartridge. Either linen or a paper was used to load revolvers before metal cartridges came into use. Metal ones were available during the War Between the States but in short supply and not much used by the common soldier.” He’d done some homework after the first shooting.
“You think someone shot at me with a Civil War weapon? Like they did Maisy?” She looked disbelieving.
“Just like,” Wolf said, feeling grim, “except this time they missed.” And he was hellbent on finding them before there was a next time.
Kylah turned and walked a short distance away, staring into the trees. Wolf knew she was processing things in her mind. He understood the need. He looked down at Trouble. “I don’t guess you have a clue you can show me now? Something that will help me keep her safe.”
Chapter Ten
Bugger all, I feel like a bit of a failure and it’s a rare and uncomfortable feeling for me. A clue I do not have.
We withdraw to Kylah’s trailer as the sheriff and his men arrive to begin combing the area for any additional evidence. Before they disperse, Wolf takes a moment to show Sheriff Mitchell the intact cartridge. Like me, Wolf does not believe finding the linen cartridge is a coincidence. However, I’m not sure whether it was dropped accidently or intentionally. I applaud Wolf’s suggestion that the sheriff caution his men not to broadcast the incident, and more so the fact that the weapon used today was almost certainly another antique. I’ve seen more than one investigation stalled by a copycat prankster who has his or her own motive for muddying the waters. I hope the deputies find something that will help, another cartridge perhaps, either of the spent bullets, footprints, anything. Not, mind you, that I think they can do better than I. However, my place is with Kylah and my money is on Wolf for helping me solve this case. The sheriff was wisdom itself in bringing him in on an official basis.
Several hours later, they all troop back and I do my best not to feel gratified that they have found little more than we did as that would be immature of me and I pride myself on a very Sherlockian maturity. All they have in hand is another linen cartridge, which could be a mate to the first and of no more help at this point than the first.
The sheriff sends his men to begin questioning those in the area as to w
hat they may have seen or heard and the rest of us remain in Kylah’s living quarters, although I suppose it’s more Jake’s for the present. With a slide-out opened that I had not realized existed, there is more than enough room for us. I take note of the fact that Wolf pulls Kylah to sit beside him on a small love seat – interesting name that – and she does not demur at his action.
* * *
Les gave Wolf a look that he had no difficulty deciphering. “We need to talk through some things.”
Wolf shrugged. “That’s fine but since Kylah was the intended victim and Jake was with me, we can talk it through right here. I don’t suppose you’ve got anything to reveal other than your thoughts and some possibilities and I’ve got the same.”
Les shook his head. The sheriff didn’t look happy but he yielded the point and started talking. “I’d hoped Maisy McGuire was a murder of passion, barring that, a random killing even though I knew that was a long shot. With Ella Necaise cleared and someone shooting at Ms. West today, I’m seeing at least two patterns, possibly a third.”
He shifted his look from Wolf to Kylah. “Both of you female. Both of you dressed in costumes. And both dressed as men.”
Once the sheriff started talking, Jake got up and began making coffee with quiet movements.
Wolf saw Kylah give him a quick smile of thanks before she answered the sheriff. “That’s because females weren’t allowed into the military at the time.”
“Can’t think with typical logic here. Anybody that’d shoot a woman in what appears to be cold blood may have their own brand of logic but you won’t be able to match it with sane thinking.”
Trouble in Action Page 10