Into the Frying Pan

by Sarah Osborne

  “So it belonged to Phil, but Sally was using it, only she left it with Ryan. Was that before or after she walked through the tunnel?” Mason asked.

  “I don’t know. She wasn’t wearing a hat when we talked to her.”

  “Ryan seemed wound up?” Mason asked.

  “Ryan seemed distraught. He said he was glad Carl was dead. I couldn’t tell if he was making a confession or simply relieved to have Carl out of the way.”

  “Ryan wants you and everyone else to back off,” Mason said. “Did I tell you he has a rap sheet? Nearly beat a man to death years ago. He said the guy was threatening Harper. This was during their residency when they weren’t even dating. He was lucky not to lose his license.”

  “A rap sheet. I never heard about that. He could have been the person who pushed me. And we’ve both seen how he acts when he’s mad. He’s out of control. You think we need to warn Phil and Danny?”

  Mason nodded. “Yes. I’ll tell them.” Mason ran to the left of the field and was back before the battle started. “I saw Sally standing next to Phil on one side. Danny on the other. They were in a tight formation. I can’t see any harm coming to them as long as they stay together.”

  “But they won’t. They’ll scatter,” I said.

  We spoke softly, so no one would overhear our worries, including Lurleen. She was busy offering cookies and iced tea to the spectators.”

  The action started with the firing of a Federal cannon on one side and return cannon fire from the Confederates. A row of Federals came on the field to be met by a Confederate infantry line. We were too far away to see faces. We saw guns fire and men fall—mostly Union forces. The cavalry from both sides rode onto the field and went hand to hand with make-believe swords before backing off. We could see Harper on her white stallion. Then more infantry, more shots, more dead and wounded. Every now and then medics would run on the field to see who was still alive and carry off a man or two.

  The breeze had died, and I could only imagine how the men were suffering from the heat, particularly the Federals in their wool uniforms. The Confederates knew about the South and their uniforms were made of a cotton wool blend, at least some of them—that’s what Lurleen took the time to explain to me. She’d heard it from a couple of guys who had partied too much the night before and were sitting out the actual battle.

  It was half-way through the battle when we saw Phil’s line of infantry emerge. Mason recognized them, and it didn’t hurt that Danny waved his cap to us. From a cluster of pine trees, near where I’d seen Ryan, a group of Federals marched onto the field. The Confederates and the Federals faced each other from twenty yards away and fired. Men dropped, and then everyone who was still standing reloaded. There was smoke, noise, and cannons blasting. Bit by bit the Confederates pushed the Federals back.

  At first, no one registered there was a problem. Skirmishes were happening across the field with some men on horses, others on foot. The fallen lay on their sides or their backs, some better actors than others. As the reenactment came to a close, two Union reenactors circled back to check on their fallen comrades.

  It was then the cry went up. Lurleen and I could hear it from the tent. “A man’s been shot!” Three police officers in uniform rushed onto the field. Mason and I ran after them.

  I had only one thought. Let it not be Phil. I saw how angry Ryan was as he cleaned his gun. Did he fill it with live ammunition?

  “I’m a doctor,” I yelled as police tried to keep me away.

  “Let her through,” Mason shouted, showing his ID. I ran to his side and looked down. At first all I could see was a bloodied chest. A bullet had left a gaping hole near the man’s heart. Then I recognized the uniform—a Federal uniform—and finally the face.

  Ryan lay dead on the ground, his gun beside him, his eyes mercifully closed. I felt for his carotid, but I knew he was already gone.

  Chapter Twenty

  I heard Danny and Phil before I saw them. Danny was shouting at Phil to stay down, but Phil was apparently desperate to see what had happened. “Who is it?” I heard him cry. Then he knelt beside me with Danny covering him as best he could.

  “Oh, God,” Phil said. “I was standing opposite Ryan, shooting at him.” He seemed to realize what he was saying and looked around. “I was firing blanks. We all were. Besides, this isn’t a wound made by a mini ball—the damage would have been more massive.”

  Danny peered over Phil’s shoulder. “What do you think it was?”

  “Don’t know,” Phil said. He reached over to search the wound, and an officer stopped him from touching anything.

  “You know him?” the officer asked.

  “He’s Dr. Ryan Hudson, a friend…of a lot of us.” He looked around. “Where’s Harper? She doesn’t need to see this.”

  Danny stood up. “I see her horse. The cavalry has been ordered to stay away, I’m sure. I’ll go to her.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Sally said.

  “No,” an officer ordered. It was the same Deputy Sheriff who had spoken to me earlier, but his demeanor had changed entirely. He was not a big man, but he now seemed more commanding. “I’m in charge for now. If you were on the field when this happened you stay on the field.”

  He ordered another officer to cordon off the area and take names.

  “All of you stand over there, keep your mouths shut and your weapons on the ground beside you—understood?”

  A second officer led them to a spot at the side of the field, Federals in one cluster, Confederates in another. Men stood or sat and placed their guns beside them. There were thirty or forty men in all, Sally stood next to Phil.

  A deadly quiet fell over the field, and all that could be heard was the sound of a few birds calling to each other. A breeze picked up and made it easier to breathe.

  I whispered to Mason, “Someone has to tell Harper.”

  Mason spoke with the officer. “Dr. Brown wasn’t on the field. She was with me in a sutler’s tent. Could she talk to his wife?”

  “I know you both from this morning. She can go. I’ll have an officer escort her and bring the wife back here.”

  The Deputy Sheriff waved me through the line of yellow tape set up to keep some of us in and others out.

  The officer said he’d join me in a moment. I walked to where the horses and riders stood. It wasn’t hard to find Harper. She was off her horse and sitting on the ground. She jumped up when she saw us approaching.

  “What happened?” she asked. “They won’t let us through and they won’t answer our questions.”

  “Do you have someone who can take care of your horse?” I asked.

  Harper looked alarmed. She turned to a young woman. “Jeannie, can you handle Bullet again?” Jeannie nodded, and all I could think of was the irony of that name.

  I led Harper to a place where she could sit down, but she remained standing.

  “What is it, Mabel? Just tell me. Has something happened to Ryan? We’re hearing all kinds of rumors. Tell me!”

  “I’m sorry, Harper. Ryan’s been killed.”

  Harper’s face paled and for a moment I thought she might pass out. I helped her to the ground. She put her face in her hands and shuddered. “It’s all my fault.”

  I waited a moment. “What do you mean?”

  She looked at me. Her blue eyes were crystal clear. “I drove this madness. I didn’t mean to, but I couldn’t stand Ryan’s hovering any more. I told him I’d go where I wanted and do what I wanted. Ryan thought I was having an affair.”

  “That’s what he told me,” I said.

  “He told you that? When?”

  “This afternoon, just before the reenactment. He said he thought you were involved with Phil.”

  “Oh God, I knew it. First it was Carl and then Phil. If I ever said hello to a man, Ryan was sure I was about to leave him.”

&nbs
p; “Were you?”

  “I loved Ryan. He never understood how much. I’m gregarious, and he took that to mean I wasn’t happy with him.”

  This time the tears did come. “Was it…was it suicide?” she asked.

  I looked at her amazed. “Whatever made you ask that? It was murder.”

  “I asked because Ryan was so despondent, saying he couldn’t live without me. I kept reassuring him, but he wouldn’t listen. He said if he did die it would be quick, like on a battlefield.”

  I wondered if Ryan could have turned the gun on himself. The wound was ghastly enough to be delivered up close. I’d leave that to forensics.

  “Frankly, after I spoke to Ryan, I worried he might shoot Phil,” I said.

  Harper nodded her head slowly. “He did threaten that. I must have spoken to him just after you did. He threatened to harm anyone who paid the least attention to me. I wondered about Carl.”

  “You wondered if Ryan had killed him?”

  Again Harper nodded.

  “How would he know about cannons and how to make them malfunction?”

  “We all kept our gear in the same locked storage unit—safer than in our homes. That meant the guns, the cannon, even the uniforms. It was a facility with tight security, proper air conditioning.”

  “Who is all?” I asked.

  “Me, Ryan, Sally, and Andy. Even Frank had access. Phil let him choose a weapon and a uniform from his precious supply.”

  “So you’re saying any one of you could have damaged the cannon.”

  “Anyone who had the time and knowledge.”

  “Did Ryan have that knowledge?”

  “He asked me all about cannons and looked online to see how they worked. I just don’t know what he might have done.”

  The officer joined us at that moment. “Ms. Hudson,” he said, “it’s time to go.”

  “Dr. Hudson,” she responded. “May I see my husband?”

  “I’m not sure you want to see him as he is now.”

  “I’m a doctor,” Harper said. “I need to see him.”

  “Very well.”

  We walked back across the field. I stayed near Mason as the officer took Harper five feet from where Ryan lay. “I can’t let you come any closer,” he said.

  Harper looked and nodded. “That’s my husband.”

  Then she broke down. The officer led her back to me and Mason.

  She turned to me. “I can’t believe it. It really is Ryan. Did Phil take matters into his own hands?”

  “What are you talking about?” Mason asked before I could.

  “Phil wanted me to divorce Ryan,” she said.

  “You just told me you would never leave Ryan,” I said.

  “I meant it, but Phil was sure I’d change my mind. He said Ryan was stifling me. I think Phil hoped to marry me one day.”

  Mason looked at her. “You do realize you’ve just given Phil a motive for murder.”

  Harper looked aghast. “No, no, I didn’t mean to do that.”

  “Were you involved with Carl as your husband suspected?” Mason asked.

  “Never,” Harper said with disgust. “I don’t know where Ryan ever got that idea.”

  Mason turned to us. “No more conversation,” he said. “The Whitfield County investigator is here along with Officer Barden from Gordon County. They’ll be asking the questions.

  It was Officer Barden who approached us.

  “I’m sorry for your loss, but I’ll need to talk with you, Dr. Hudson, if you’re up to it.”

  “I am.”

  The officer led her back across the field to the Clisby Austin House. That must be where they’d set up headquarters. How fitting. It was the old farmhouse Sherman used as his headquarters while he planned his Atlanta campaign.

  “They have Phil’s gun along with everyone else’s,” Mason said. “It’s an Enfield ’53. Sally has the same gun, and she was standing next to Phil. Did she have a grudge against Ryan?”

  “I don’t know. I have no idea when Sally’s telling the truth or making up a story.”

  “The GBI ballistics team will likely determine where the shot came from. As long as those muskets aren’t smooth bore, they can figure out which rifle fired the live shot.”

  “But Phil said the shot wasn’t a mini ball. It was something that was smaller caliber based on the size of the wound.”

  “I’ll check with the Whitfield County investigator. He might already have found the bullet. If it wasn’t a mini ball, it’s unlikely the GBI will be able to trace the gun.”

  I watched Mason as he spoke with the Whitfield County investigator who continued labeling evidence in the cordoned area around the body. Another officer worked beside him taking photos. I was too far away to hear the conversation. When it ended, Mason returned with me to Lurleen’s tent.

  “Barden wants you to stay put for now. He did find the bullet, says it’s less than a 50 caliber. He speculates it could have been in the cartridge and not seen by a person loading his rifle.”

  “That means the bullet might have come from anywhere,” I said.

  Lurleen was seated next to me, eager to hear every word. “How could the bullet have been hidden in the cartridge?” she asked.

  “The cartridge consists of a paper tube, black powder, and a bullet,” Mason said. “In a reenactment, there is no bullet. You’ve watched the soldiers bite open the paper tube, pour the powder into the muzzle and ram down an imaginary bullet.”

  Lurleen and I both nodded.

  “It’s possible that a bullet could slide down a musket and not be noticed by the shooter.”

  “So whoever fired the shot, might not have known he had a live bullet in his gun,” Lurleen said.

  “Exactly. Or the shooter might have known it would be impossible to trace who fired the shot given the tight formation of the Confederates on the line.”

  “Can they tell if Ryan was the intended victim?”

  “Not for sure,” Mason said. “A smaller bullet would have been less accurate but the two lines were only twenty yards apart. It’s most likely someone meant to kill Ryan, if it wasn’t suicide.”

  Lurleen stared wide-eyed at Mason. “Do you think it could have been suicide?”

  Mason shook his head. “It’s doubtful. Those rifles are over five feet. Ryan was tall, but it would have been hard to do. We’ll see what the medical examiner thinks.”

  “If it was suicide, then Harper drove him to it,” Lurleen said.

  All we could do was wait until the police said we were free to leave. I called Eddie to let her know about the situation and to make sure the children didn’t see it on TV. She responded quietly as if I were simply telling her about a busy day. I realized the kids must be nearby.

  “Have fun,” she said. “I’ll be happy to have the kids another night since you and Mason have plans for the evening.”

  “Thank you. I’ll call them later.”

  I couldn’t talk to the kids just then—Lucie would have picked up on my anxiety.

  Mason went back on the field while Lurleen and I packed up supplies. From our vantage point we could see most of the battlefield, including the cluster of uniforms and the distant body.

  Danny joined us. “Barden has finished interviewing me for now, so I thought I’d see how you two were holding up?”

  “We’re okay,” I said. “We know Inspector Barden found the bullet and it wasn’t a mini ball. That means someone could have set Phil up,” I said. “He might not have known he was firing live ammunition.”

  “It’s possible.”

  “Were you next to Phil the whole time?”

  “I was.”

  “Did you see Ryan get shot?” I asked.

  “When everyone starts firing, you can’t see much of anything beyond smoke,” Danny said. “I
did see Ryan fall—didn’t know it was him—but I remember thinking how realistic it was. Some of the guys have fake blood, and when the smoke cleared for just a second, I thought that’s what it was. We were still pursuing the Feds, so we didn’t have time to look back over the field.”

  “You think the shot came from Phil’s gun?”

  “I can’t say. The sound from his gun was loud, startled both of us I think, and then Ryan fell.”

  “So if Phil was startled, maybe he didn’t know his gun was loaded with live ammunition. Maybe he is being framed!” Lurleen said.

  “Why are you defending Phil?” I asked.

  “Phil’s smart. Why would he use his own gun to kill Ryan?”

  “Maybe he knew the bullet could never be traced or maybe he wanted to promote the idea he was being framed,” Danny said. “It’s a pretty dangerous way to set up an alibi, but it’s possible. Phil hired me as his bodyguard, but he never once seemed worried about what might happen to him yesterday or today.”

  “Phil has always been cool under pressure,” I said. “He would have made a great surgeon.”

  We sat in the shade of Lurleen’s tent, lost in our own thoughts. Lurleen gave us iced tea and then sat beside us looking out at the field, which was still milling with police. The woman who shared the tent had closed up shop and sat talking with several women dressed in vintage costumes. They all fanned themselves, but I think it was more to deal with the anxiety about what happened on the field than the sweltering day.

  My mind turned to Phil. Just how cold and calculating was he? He was always reserved, even with me. As I thought about our relationship, he’d never once told me he loved me. I thought he did from his other statements—about how good we were together, how I brought out the best in him, how I was the one who understood him. I was so naive and so willing to believe Phil was the man I wanted him to be.

  I stood up abruptly, and Lurleen asked if I was all right.

  “I need to take a walk,” I said. “My arm’s hurting a bit and I need to get a little circulation back in it.”

  “You want some company, chérie?” Lurleen asked.