“Why didn’t you call me last night with this information?” Her voice was sharp, even sharper than usual.
“I meant to.” I knew it wasn’t great as far as excuses were, but it was the best that I had.
She snorted. “I’m on my way.”
After the detective hung up, I called Benji, Gavin, and a few of the part-time staff and asked them to come in early to help me clean up the mess.
Benji was the first to arrive, even beating Detective Brandon. She’d been on her way to the Farm when I’d called. She immediately joined me at the sugarhouse to assess the damage. It wasn’t as bad as I’d first thought. It could be cleaned up quickly before the festival began.
She looked around the sugarhouse. “Who did this?”
“I know who,” I said and I told her about my encounter with the Hoopers. “We should start cleaning up.”
“Not yet,” Detective Brandon said from behind us. “My team and I need to take a look around.”
I turned to find her standing in the doorway to the sugarhouse. “Detective, we have to open in two hours for the festival. The sugarhouse must be up and working by nine. We have three hundred people coming to the Farm today to see how maple syrup is made.”
“This is a crime scene and may be connected to Conrad Beeson’s murder,” she said. “I’ll decide if and when you can enter the building.”
“But—”
“The longer you argue with me, the longer it’ll take.”
I glared at her, and Benji and I backed off.
Benji scowled. “She’s such a pain. You know she’s throwing her weight around just because she doesn’t like you.”
“Maybe that’s a tiny part of it, but she’s right. She has to make sure there isn’t anything that connects this to the murder.” The reality of the circumstances settled on my shoulders like an oxen’s yoke. A man had been murdered, and the fact that I was alone with two possible culprits last night turned my stomach. Detective Brandon was right. I should have called her last night.
Benji wasn’t cutting Detective Brandon any slack. “But you said it was Scott and Shaun Hooper who came to the Farm last night.” She watched me. “Do you think they killed Beeson?”
“I don’t know, but at the very least, I do believe they saw something.” I told her how Laura and I went to the Hooper place late yesterday afternoon.
“No wonder they came over here and trashed the sugarhouse,” Benji said.
“That doesn’t make me feel any better, Ben.”
She sniffed. “In any case, we’ll be ready to set up just as soon as the detective gives her blessing. We can have this cleaned up in no time. Alice is already in the kitchen with her staff preparing for the pancake breakfast.”
“Good.” I smiled, feeling a tiny bit better.
“Did Barn Boy see anything?” Benji asked.
I arched an eyebrow at her.
She rolled her big brown eyes in return. “Fine. Did Jason see anything?”
“No. But he heard the shouts. He came by my cottage, but the Hooper boys were gone by then.”
She shook her head. “I still don’t understand what the Hooper boys meant by it. Why would they be so stupid as to do this?” She gestured to the pails and spiles on the ground. “I mean, you saw them. You know it was them.”
Good question.
“Kelsey!” Chief Duffy’s booming voice pulled me away from my conversation with Benji. “I came as quick as I could, but one can’t just throw on regimental uniforms.” The police chief was in his full Confederate General uniform, all the way down to the ceremonial sword. “Heard about your troubles on the radio. You think it was the Hoopers?”
I nodded. “They were here last night.” I started to tell him and Officer Sonders about my encounter.
Detective Brandon must have heard the chief as well, because she came out of the sugarhouse. She wasn’t smiling, not that that was unusual.
“We need the sugarhouse today,” I said. “The Maple Sugar Festival could be ruined without it.”
“’Course you do. ’Course you do. Candy, are you done here? Kelsey and her staff need to get in there and prepare for the festival.”
“Chief, I just arrived. I still have to fingerprint the scene.”
He held his coat by the lapels. “Officer Sonders can do that while we run over and interview the Hoopers. Seems to me that your time would be much better spent talking to potential witnesses than keeping Kelsey and her staff from preparing for the day.”
“But Chief—” the detective protested.
“Officer Sonders will give it the once-over, and then we’ll let them clean up. Won’t you, Sonders?”
The young officer nodded.
Detective Brandon glared at me, as if the police chief overruling her was somehow my fault. Yes, I wanted her to leave the sugarhouse as soon as possible, but I hadn’t told the chief to kick her out.
Detective Brandon cleared her throat. “I’ll be at the Hoopers’.” With that she stomped away.
twenty-nine
With Chief Duffy’s go-ahead, we were able to hang the sap collection pails back on the trees, scrub up the worst of the maple syrup spills, and sweep all the broken glass from the sugarhouse. By the time we were done, it was eight thirty, which gave me just enough time to run back to the cottage to change before the festival. As we cleaned, Laura and the rest of my staff arrived, as well as Chief Duffy’s small troupe of reenactors who’d volunteered to come and entertain the visitors.
When I went inside the visitor center, there was a line out the door of people waiting to enter the pancake breakfast. It stretched all the way to the parking lot, and Judy had just unlocked the door.
I couldn’t stop smiling. Despite everything that had gone wrong over that last two days, the Maple Sugar Festival was turning into the success I’d known it would be. This was exactly what I’d wanted to see when I’d first had the idea for the Maple Sugar Festival. With three or four more successful events like this every year, I knew that the Farm could not fail, and I wouldn’t have to worry about what Henry Ratcliffe and the other Cherry Foundation board members said about it either.
I winced internally. Here I was, making plans for the future, and Conrad Beeson was dead. He couldn’t plot and plan for his own future. I tried to shake the melancholy thoughts from my head and focus on the day.
I watched Abraham Lincoln chatting with people as they waited in line. With the encouragement of Chief Duffy and his regiment, Abe was in residence, and there were a dozen more reenactors there talking about the War and the maple trees. I had yet to see Chase, not that I’d been looking for him.
A boy stared at Lincoln in awe. “Do you eat pancakes?”
Abe bowed to him. “I love pancakes. Would you like to hear my ode to them?”
The boy nodded, and I noticed that others standing in line leaned in to hear the ode. As far as I knew, Lincoln—the real one—never wrote an ode about pancakes, but I wasn’t about to correct the historical inaccuracies.
I was relieved to have Honest Abe there to keep the crowd occupied as they waited. My staff and the dozen or so volunteers who’d come in to help were doing a fantastic job in keeping the crowds calm and patient as the line moved slowly forward.
A young man in a Union army uniform collected tickets from the pancake eaters. “Please go in.” He gestured to the dining room.
After they’d finished eating their breakfast, they went out into the Farm where my historical interpreters and more Civil War reenactors waited to tell them what it was like to live in Ohio during the Civil War. Since the ground was too wet for the sleigh, the Farm’s wagon, with Scarlett and Rhett at the front, waited to give guests rides back and forth to the maple grove. One of my seasonal staffers sat in the driver seat in his period clothing. At least the festival-goers wouldn’t be subjected to Shepley as the
ir driver like the school children had been. Another seasonal worker helped guests step into the wagon for the Maple Sugar Festival’s inaugural ride.
Laura joined me near the door. “I knew I shouldn’t have left you last night. Benji told me what happened.”
“I wasn’t in any real danger,” I said, trying to sound more confident than I really was. “The Hooper boys were just trying to throw their weight around. I’m sure they’re sorry now. Detective Brandon went over to their home to talk to them.”
“That would make me sorry.” Laura patted the bun coiled at the back of her head. “I haven’t been in this get-up for a few months. I almost forgot how to tie my corset.” She sighed. “It was one of those times it would have been nice to have a man around to help me out.”
Laura was always looking for a date. I knew she could have just about any man she wanted with her long blond hair, curvy figure, and beautiful skin. I just didn’t think most men deserved her.
She eyed me. “Speaking of men. Have you seen Chase?”
I shook my head and watched as the full wagon rolled into the trees.
She leaned close to me. “Are you looking for him now?”
I rolled my eyes, grateful that Hayden wasn’t around to see me. “I’m trying to see if any of the Sap and Spile members came.”
“Back to the scene of the crime?”
“Exactly.”
She groaned. “You can’t possibly think the killer is here.”
“I don’t know what to believe. I shouldn’t count anyone out as a suspect.” Including Gavin, I mentally added. He was now in the sugarhouse in nineteenth-century costume, talking to tourists about maple syrup’s importance in combatting the Rebels.
Laura tapped her index finger to her cheek. “You know, the Kelsey I know doesn’t usually ask for anyone’s advice or help to solve her problems.”
I laughed.
“But after last night, I think you should leave this whole matter to the police. I’m worried about you.”
“Don’t be. I’m fine.”
A man stepped around the line and headed straight onto the grounds. It was Daniel, the college maintenance worker, who I’d first met at the Sap and Spile meeting. I recognized his ponytail.
“There’s one now,” I said.
“There’s what now?” Laura asked.
“Someone from Sap and Spile. I need to talk to him.”
Her groan followed me out the door.
By the time I wove through the crowd trying to get out of the building, Daniel had disappeared. I almost gave up, but then I spotted him heading toward the sugarhouse and quietly followed. I should have known. He must be here to check out Gavin’s operation.
Daniel stopped outside the door to the sugarhouse and listened to the demonstration.
“We’ve been increasing our sugar production tenfold since the war began,” Gavin said, in character. “Sugar cane and molasses are harder to come by every day. At first we couldn’t get it because the south was closed off to us, but even now that we got Old New Orleans back from the Rebs, it’s still hard to come by because the farmland has been abandoned or scorched by our own men.”
Daniel rubbed his chin, as if he was considering the story that Gavin told the tourists.
I walked up beside him.
He glanced in my direction. “Been snooping around any greenhouses lately, Ms. Cambridge?”
I felt my face heat up. “Not since yesterday.”
“Good to know. This is quite an event you have going on here.” He nodded toward the trees, where more reenactors and a handful of my interpreters in nineteenth-century dress entertained the crowds. “Everyone seems to be enjoying themselves.”
“I’m happy with the turnout,” I said.
“As you should be.” He rubbed his chin again. “I just think it’s strange how so many people come here to learn about maple sugar and the Civil War.”
“Why’s that?” I asked.
“It just seems odd to me, is all. It was never a topic of conversation at Sap and Spile until after the release of Beeson’s book. We all knew, for a long time, that he was writing a book, but he was always hush-hush about the subject matter. Many of us, myself included, just assumed it was some sort of academic work about plants. Imagine our shock when he produced a history book of all things.”
“Dr. Beeson wasn’t interested in history?” I asked.
“He’d never showed much interest in it. At least none that I was aware of. At Sap and Spile meetings, he was always focused on the science of maple sugaring and methods about boiling and what woods would burn the hottest and the longest, what property the type of wood would give to the maple syrup it created. It was very strange.” He shrugged. “I suppose everyone can have a surprising talent or interest.”
“What were your feelings about Conrad Beeson?”
His mouth curled into a smile. “Do you mean to ask, did I kill him?”
I swallowed. “Yes.”
He laughed at my honesty. It was a low raspy laugh. “No, I did not.” He paused. “I can’t say I cared much for the man, but I didn’t care enough to kill him either. Maple sugaring is a hobby of mine. It’s not my life, like it is for many of our members.” He held up a hand to me, as if to stop me from saying something. “And before you ask, I was at work when Beeson was attacked. Six fellow employees can vouch for me.”
“Oh, all right.”
He chuckled. “Don’t look so disappointed, Kelsey. You just have to find the person who cared enough to take Conrad’s life.”
He said it as if it were a simple task.
I changed the subject. “Why is Sap and Spile only for men?”
“It just seemed to fall in that way. No woman has ever asked to join. We’ve been having meetings since the 1920s. Over time the word got out that it was men only, but there’s nothing in the bylaws that specifically says that. Why?” His eyes twinkled. “Are you interested in joining?”
I shook my head. “I think that after this weekend, I’ll have had enough of maple sugar to last until next year’s festival.”
“You plan to do it again?”
I nodded. “As you can see, it’s turned out to be a popular event.”
“Hope that no one dies next time.”
“That would be nice,” I agreed.
“Kelsey! There you are!” My father’s voice boomed across the Farm even though he was still thirty yards away from the sugarhouse.
I thanked Daniel for speaking to me and went to meet my father.
thirty
As was typical when he visited the Farm for special events, Dad had mixed up the centuries. He wore jeans and boots on the bottom and a Union soldier’s coat on top, complete with saber. To my relief, I saw it was made out of plastic. He must have picked it up in the stock room at the theater.
He unsheathed his saber and waved it about. “Where’s my young soldier, Sir Hayden?”
“Can you put that away?” I asked with a wince. A tourist had crossed the path to walk on the grass to avoid us. “It may be fake, but you’re scaring the visitors.”
He re-sheathed his sword. “You never let me have any fun.”
“Are you supposed to say that to me? I’m the kid in this situation,” I said.
“You were born responsible. You take after your beloved mother that way. A crusader and a dependable citizen of the world.”
“Thanks, Dad.” I smiled. “That’s high praise.” I knew he couldn’t give any higher praise.
“So where is Hayden?” he asked again, scanning the faces around us.
I sighed, and the glow I’d received from being compared to my mother faded. “Eddie came and picked him up last night. He started his weekend a little earlier than I expected. But it makes sense,” I added quickly. “I’ve been so busy with the festival. It would be hard f
or me to keep a close eye on Hayden if he were here.”
Dad scowled. My jovial father wasn’t a scowler, unless it was on stage and required for the part. “He did, did he? I always said that you would have trouble with that one.”
I snorted. “Dad, when did you always say that? You loved Eddie almost as much as I did once upon a time.”
“Well, I thought it,” he grumped in return.
“Hayden will be here later. Krissie promised to bring him to the festival today.”
“Hmpf,” Dad snorted.
“Krissie’s nice,” I said defending Eddie’s fiancée to my father just as I had to Laura the previous night.
“Hmmm,” Dad mused. “Nice, maybe, but she’s not you. It seems like a serious downgrade after being married to you.”
“I need to get back to work,” I said.
Dad grabbed the sleeve of my jacket. “Before you go, I have news from campus.”
I raised my eyebrows at him.
He lowered his voice. “About Beeson.”
“Let’s talk over here.” I led Dad away from the crowd, to a picnic table near the employees’ entrance to the visitor center. “What did you learn?”
“After you dropped by yesterday, I spoke with one of my acting students who I knew was taking a botany lab from Dr. Beeson. The only reason I knew that was because he went on and on in my class about how much he hated botany. He’d thought it would be an easy A to fulfill his science requirement, but he was wrong.”
“What did he say?” I scanned the area around the picnic table to make sure no one was close enough to overhear.
Dad leaned in. “My student said that another horticulture professor, Dr. Arnold Buckley, was stealing from the college and that Beeson had caught him.”
“What?” I cried.
When visitors stared over at us, I smiled at them and lowered my voice. “What? What do you mean by ‘stealing’?”
“Buckley is the chair of the horticulture department, and he was misappropriating funds in order to take some of the budget money himself. Faking receipts and the like, so that he could pocket the difference.”
The Final Tap Page 19