Phil called while I was putting the children to bed. I let it go to voice mail. When I picked up the message later I must have looked upset because Mason asked if anything was wrong.
The message was terse. “It’s me, again. They think someone deliberately damaged the cannon, so it would explode. I’m at the top of their list of suspects, and they’ve cancelled the rest of the reenactment. It’s a crime scene now.”
I couldn’t tell what was upsetting Phil more, that he was a suspect or that they’d called off the second day of his precious Battle of Resaca.
“I think I need to call Phil back,” I said, “in private.”
I headed upstairs to my bedroom, leaving Danny and Lurleen happily sharing a piece of chocolate cake with Grand Marnier icing. Mason looked far less content.
Phil barely gave me time to say hello.
“I was just about to call you again. You got my message, didn’t you?”
“Phil, I have a family now. I can’t drop everything for you the way I used to.”
“I’ve never been in trouble like this before. The truth is someone wanted to murder me. I swear it, Ditie.”
“I don’t know what to say, Phil, or what you want me to do?”
“I need protection. There’s another reenactment at Tunnel Hill next weekend. I’m going to participate.”
“Phil, be sensible. If you honestly believe someone is out to kill you, why would you make yourself a target at another reenactment?”
“I have to go. If I don’t go, people will think I’m guilty of something, or worse, they’ll think I’m a coward. What I need is a bodyguard. You must know someone who could do that for me.”
Sadly, I did.
Chapter Three
I promised Phil I’d do what I could to help him. Then I got off the phone and walked into the living room.
“Well?” Mason asked. “Did he confess?”
I gave Mason a look.
“Okay, I apologize. What did Dr. Brockton have to say for himself?” Mason asked.
“They shut down the Battle of Resaca, but apparently reenactors are free to join the Battle of Tunnel Hill next weekend. Phil said that’s where he’s headed if they don’t arrest him first.”
“I’m sure he’s got the best lawyer in town, aside from your brother,” Mason said. “They won’t arrest him until they figure out if this was murder or an accident.”
“Phil also said he wanted a bodyguard. He’s certain someone meant to kill him, but he still won’t give up the reenactment next weekend.”
Danny jumped up. “I’m his man.”
“And I’m his woman,” said Lurleen.
“Hang on,” Mason said. “I know the Sheriff in Gordon County. Let me give him a call and see what I can find out.”
Mason headed for the kitchen. While he was gone, Lurleen and Danny talked Civil War battles. That gave me time to think.
Phil claimed he should have been the one pulling the lanyard. He was the gunner, meaning he was in charge of the whole operation, but because they were two men short, he took the position of the man who pulled the lanyard. When Carl begged to do it, Phil let him. Could anyone else verify that? These ‘progressives,’ as Phil called himself were all about detailed plans. Other people called them stitch counters, meaning every detail had to be authentic. That was certainly true about Phil. So what could have motivated Phil to hand the lanyard to a man he hated?
Mason returned and sat down beside me. “The Sheriff’s an old friend. He told me what he knew—that Brockton was in charge of maintaining the cannons, and Brockton claims they were in good shape before the first round of the battle. The cannon’s now in the crime lab in Atlanta and they’ll get experts to see if the misfiring could have happened by accident— maybe a bird or squirrel getting into the bore. It could take a couple of weeks before they know for sure. Brockton’s right. He’s been cleared to participate in the next event. After that, he’ll probably be free to leave the city if they don’t find more direct evidence against him.”
“That’s settled then. I’m between jobs,” Danny said. “I’ll be happy to be Phil’s bodyguard. This guy will pay me?”
“He’ll probably pay you anything you want to charge,” I said.
“It’ll be my usual fee. Heck, I should be paying him to participate. This is going to be a blast.”
“I hope not,” I said.
“Sorry. It’s just that Tunnel Hill is a great place for a battle. There’s the original tunnel from the 1850s that you can walk through—talk about living history. It was part of Sherman’s efforts to take over the railroads and block the South from getting supplies.”
“I want to come to the battle,” Lurleen said.
“You could probably be a sutler,” Danny said.
“A settler?” Lurleen asked.
“A sutler is a person who supplies goods to the soldiers, like a makeshift shopkeeper.”
“So I wouldn’t have to dress like a boy. I could look more like a Southern belle.”
“I don’t know about looking like a wealthy Southerner,” Danny said.
“I’ll make it work, and that way I can keep an eye on everyone who comes and goes.”
I could see Lurleen was getting into this a lot more than any of us might have liked, but there was no point in arguing with her.
I yawned.
“Okay, everyone out,” I said. “I have to get some sleep. We’ll meet at the Silver Skillet tomorrow around ten—whoever wants to that is.”
The Silver Skillet, a retro diner, was our favorite breakfast place in Atlanta, with waitresses who knew us and the kids. We went there at least once a month. Everyone agreed except for Mason.
“I may have to work,” he said.
“On a Sunday?”
“Some of us don’t have the luxury of a nine-to-five job.”
He was being difficult, which wasn’t like him.
I turned to Danny. “I’ll get in touch with Phil tonight and give him your number. You and he can work out the details of your assignment.”
Mason was the last to leave, and I wasn’t anxious for a long discussion. We’d likely get into another argument over Phil.
He pulled me close. “I can’t help it that I don’t like this guy.”
“I’ve never seen this side of you before, and I have to say I don’t like this jealousy thing—if that’s what it is.”
“It’s not just jealousy,” Mason said. “Phil Brockton is a prime suspect in what may be a murder investigation.”
“I know.”
I closed and locked the doors after I made sure Majestic was hiding somewhere in the house. Hermione followed me upstairs. I sat on the bed and called Phil. I told him about Danny.
“I knew I could count on you, Ditie. You’re the only person I’ve ever really been able to count on. I’ve missed you.”
“Don’t start, Phil. I’m happily involved with a man who treats me great. The last I heard you were still married.”
“It’s easy to get married and a lot harder to get divorced. But we’re in the process. All Tiffany wants is a good settlement. She claims I never had time for her, but my practice is huge with multiple research grants to oversee.”
“Not to mention your reenactments,” I added.
“Don’t knock it. Today was awful, but that isn’t how they’re meant to be. Maybe you should bring the kids next weekend and let them see history in action.”
“Phil, you think you’re the target of a murderer and you need a bodyguard—how could I possibly put the children in a mix like that?”
“I’m calmed down now. This whole thing must have been an accident.”
“Why the change of heart?”
“It’s the only thing that makes sense. There’s no way someone could know who’d be killed in a blast like that.”
I was silent.
“You know, Ditie, you’d get a chance to see more of our old friends. Andy will be there.”
“If the police say it was an accident, I’ll consider coming. Jason would be thrilled to see a battle, and I know Lurleen would like some company.”
“I think Ryan Hudson will come. You liked him in med school.”
“I did, although he had a hair trigger when things didn’t go his way. I remember how upset he’d get when he didn’t do well on an exam. I’m a little surprised he and Harper have lasted. I didn’t think he’d put up with her flirtatious ways.”
“Flirtatious ways—what an old-fashioned term, Ditie, and I always took you for a modern woman,” Phil chuckled.
“I always wondered if Harper did more than flirt,” I said.
Phil was briefly silent. “Ryan keeps a pretty close eye on her, now that they’re married.”
“What do you mean? I thought they’d been married forever.”
“Hardly. You do know Harper was engaged to Frank Peterson during their residencies?”
“You’re kidding. Where was Ryan?”
“He was hanging by her side, doing the same dermatology residency she was doing. Biding his time I’d say.”
“I guess it paid off,” I said. “Why didn’t Frank and Harper marry?”
“I can’t say.”
“Can’t say or won’t say? Did they split over Ryan?” I asked.
Phil laughed again. “I don’t think Harper was ever that into Ryan. He was her fallback guy—a solid Southern doc her father would approve of. You heard of her dad?”
“Not much. I heard he had a big Texas ranch.”
“One of the biggest, and according to Harper, the best beef cattle in the state. I met him once. He was a tough rancher and ran a tight ship. He had a lot of expectations for Harper.”
“Like what?”
“Like she was supposed to bring home a smart Southern husband and breed children as pure as his line of cattle.”
“Phew,” I said. “Makes me have more sympathy for her. Maybe that explains why she went wild in med school. It was probably the first chance she’d had to get out from under his thumb.”
“Yeah. There was a younger brother, but he didn’t amount to much. It was Harper who was supposed to carry on the family dynasty.”
“How do you know so much about her?” I asked.
“We’re friends. I visited the ranch once or twice.”
“I bet you would have qualified as a good catch—with your prestigious Southern lineage.”
Phil changed the subject. “I’m surprised you never reconnected with Ryan and Harper when you moved back to Atlanta.”
“I don’t have a lot of doctor friends,” I said, “and I wasn’t that connected with them in the first place.”
“You still think doctors are elitist and that offends your sense of fair play.”
I sighed loudly into the phone. “You have an amazing capacity to try to make me feel bad about myself. I used to think you were right, but I’ve grown up in seven years. I like a wide range of people—just not those who see themselves as better than others.”
“All right, let’s drop that old discussion. What I meant to say is, I have a week before the next reenactment. Maybe we could get together with some of our old med school friends, and if you want to be egalitarian you could invite some of the reenactors who are staying for the Battle of Tunnel Hill?”
“I could invite people? Where are you thinking of having this reunion?”
“You have a nice house. I’d do it, but I’m in a hotel room.”
“Why aren’t you staying with your parents? They still live on Tuxedo in that beautiful Tudor house, don’t they?”
“They do, and it’s a long story. I’m happy at the Whitley for now, but there’s no place for an informal party here.”
“Carl’s dead, and you want to have a party?”
“Bad wording. A gathering. I’m sorry this whole thing happened, but maybe if we all got together we could say farewell to a classmate.”
“You hated Carl,” I said.
“I won’t lie to you. I did. He wormed his way into my father’s good graces and then into his office. My dad made me invite him to the reenactment.”
“You let him pull the lanyard—why?”
“It was no big deal. He asked to do it, and I let him.”
I was silent.
“Look, Ditie, call this whatever you want. Why don’t we do something to take our minds off what happened? We could make it a Civil War gathering—people could dress up if they wanted. You could find some old authentic recipes.”
“It’s a terrible idea,” I said. “A classmate was killed, and you want to invite people to my house for some kind of celebration?”
“Not a celebration. I need to make peace with Carl’s death,” Phil said. “Why don’t we try to create something decent out of a monstrous accident? Reconnect as a group, catch up on our lives. I’m going crazy here, wondering what the police are doing and thinking. I really need your help!”
Phil was begging for support. My brother would have pointed out that’s all it took to make me jump in—someone in trouble asking for my help.
“Who else is still in town?” I asked.
“Frank and Sally may be forced to stay for a while. I don’t know if they’ll be going to the Battle of Tunnel Hill, but I can find out. What do you say? Just an old-time medical school reunion with a few extras.”
“Let me sleep on it.” I gave Danny’s number to Phil, and we left it that we’d talk the next day. I knew Danny, Lurleen, and the kids would love the idea. I knew Mason would hate it.
I turned on the news and heard in detail about the disaster at the Battle of Resaca. The newscaster announced the death of Dr. Carl Thompson in a cannon explosion during a Civil War reenactment. The investigator Barden said it was too early to determine if the explosion was a freak accident or something more suspicious, and several people of interest were being detained for questioning. No names were mentioned.
I switched off the TV and tried to sleep. Was Phil telling me the truth? Like Mason, I wondered. Phil made it sound as if he were simply doing what his father ordered him to do—teach Carl something about reenactments. Phil also claimed he was the intended victim, assuming the whole thing wasn’t a terrible accident.
But if Phil was lying about his encounter with Carl, perhaps he was lying about much more. I remembered how viciously the two of them attacked each other verbally our first year in med school, and how they never spoke after second year. The silence felt more deadly than the cruel banter.
Phil was a careful man, conscious of his image, his status, his work. I couldn’t see him killing another human being and risk losing everything he valued.
But what if Carl had something on Phil that would destroy Phil’s professional career or keep him forever out of his father’s good graces?
Four months ago, Phil had talked about taking over his father’s business. Now, for some reason, he wasn’t even staying in the family home. And why does Carl show up in a part of the world he used to hate? I thought he’d taken a residency somewhere in the Northeast in internal medicine. What could have brought him down South?
So many questions.
A reunion was starting to sound like a good idea.
Chapter Four
The kids and I met Lurleen and Danny at the Silver Skillet and waited twenty minutes until the corner booth opened up. It was the only booth that could accommodate six people if Mason decided to show. I slid across the pea green and mahogany-colored vinyl seats, 1950s style, and got the kids settled beside me. Danny sat next to Jason, ready to keep him occupied if he got restless.
The smell of bacon and sausage and the sight of fresh biscuits, grits and gravy delivered to the table across
from us made it hard to focus on anything but breakfast.
We ordered and then put our heads together to be heard over the noise of the diner, which as usual was filled with university students and locals.
I presented Phil’s idea.
“You want to have a party when a guy just died?” Danny asked.
“Not a party exactly,” I said.
“More of a wake then?” Danny said.
“No. More of a gathering, a reunion of my old medical school friends, although truth be told, most of them were Phil’s friends, not mine.”
“I thought you were over this guy,” Lurleen said, “but it seems he asks for a favor and you say yes.”
“I didn’t say yes, just that I’d sleep on it.”
“Maybe, but I can see you’ve already made up your mind. How does he do that to you?” Lurleen asked.
I shrugged. “I am over him.”
If that were true, why couldn’t I put him out of my mind? Why did I keep replaying our last dinner together? Maybe I wanted him to see what a mistake he’d made by leaving me.
Lurleen was continuing to talk and I picked up the second half of the conversation, “…don’t know what you saw in him. Sure he’s handsome and maybe he’s good in—” Lurleen glanced at the children. Jason was playing with a miniature Caterpillar dump truck, scooting it along the edge of the table, but Lucie was hanging onto every word. Lurleen caught herself—“good in other ways, but he wasn’t considerate of you.”
“He was never mean to me,” I said, “until the end. He encouraged me to do well in school. We had great conversations about history and the state of the world.”
“You sound like you’re working hard to justify your relationship with him,” Lurleen said.
Our food arrived, and I found some welcome relief in concentrating on the soft scrambled eggs, crisp bacon and biscuits that were the best in town. The others seemed equally content with their choices.
Into the Frying Pan Page 4