Uniformly Dead

by Greta McKennan

  I smiled down at her, blinking tears out of my eyes. “You’re right, honey. I need to get it right.” I hugged my bag to my chest, feeling woefully inadequate for the job.

  * * *

  The battle was set to begin at ten. I arrived at Turner Run Park just in time. The park swarmed with color and movement. I had told Aileen to meet me at the east entrance, since she lived for a good brawl. She was nowhere to be seen. I texted her that I would find a good spot and picked my way through the crowd of onlookers. Whole families had come out for the spectacle. They spread blankets on the grass and lounged in the sunshine. Little kids ran and tumbled on the grass. Teens played on their phones. As I walked by, I heard classical music coming from one group and Taylor Swift from another. The festival atmosphere contrasted strongly with the thought of a real Civil War battle, with its dirt and blood and despair. After all the intense events of this past week, I hardly wanted to witness a scene of mock carnage. Still, I did want to support Jim.

  McCarthy strolled among the onlookers, snapping pictures and scribbling down names. He wore a Rasta T-shirt and flip-flops with his jeans. With his blond ponytail, he looked more like a beach bum than a newspaper photographer. He waved cheerfully when he saw me, obviously unconcerned by last night’s horrors. I narrowed my eyes—was he the one?

  I found a good spot under a tree high on the hill across from the bluff, with the valley laid out at my feet. Confederate soldiers gathered on the bluff, milling about like kids on the playground at recess. I pulled out a pair of binoculars and scoped out the divisions. As I looked closer, a pattern emerged from the seeming chaos. Men with long muskets grouped on the left—the infantry, preparing to charge the enemy, perhaps.

  Aileen finally joined me, wearing a silvery jumpsuit spangled with red-and-orange lightning bolts and thigh-high boots with five-inch heels—as if she needed any extra height. “Looking forward to some bloodshed?” she said, rubbing her palms together for dramatic effect.

  I shuddered. I’d seen enough bloodshed to last a lifetime. “This is all pretend, you know. Jim told me the muskets are loaded with blanks that will produce a puff of smoke, nothing more.”

  She snorted. “That’s what he says. How do you know they haven’t snuck in some real bullets when no one was looking?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous!” I could hear a trace of hysteria in my voice. Was one musket bearing real bullets, ready to mow down another victim? The more I thought about it, the more plausible it sounded. I pushed the thought away and concentrated on the forces readying for battle.

  The artillery positioned a few cannons at the top of the ridge to cover the valley. Every soldier wore a uniform coat and kepi, in various hues of gray and butternut. Despite the wide range of colors, the overall impression was one of military precision. I didn’t need the binoculars to pick out Jim. He was Sergeant Merrick today, moving smartly among his men, issuing commands and directing the placement of the cannons.

  Aileen wouldn’t let it go. “There’s a murderer out there. I’m guessing he’s on the field right now, in plain sight. It could be any one of them.” She sat down against the tree trunk. “You just need to know where to look.”

  She rooted through her pockets for a huge wad of bubble gum and stuffed it into her mouth. The pale pink bubble she blew contrasted with her black lipstick in a comic struggle between childhood innocence and rock-star decadence.

  I sat down next to her, turning away from the armies preparing for battle. Maybe Aileen could help me figure out where to look. “No, they can’t all be murderers. The list is very short, actually. It could only be Jim, or McCarthy, or Torey, or . . . Pete.”

  Aileen frowned and blew another enormous pink bubble. “How do you figure?”

  “It comes down to the doll, Angeline,” I said. “Colonel Windstrom was killed for diamonds and jewels that were hidden inside her head. The only ones from the camp to see Angeline at the museum were Jim, McCarthy, and Torey . . . and Emmett McDowell. But Emmett was killed too, so he’s out.” I filled her in on the gory details of Emmett’s death. Then I hesitated before forcing myself to go on. “And Pete was there too, and the doll was in his room, and he needed money, and all of a sudden he had tons of cash. Plus, they found his Phillies cap next to Emmett’s body.”

  Aileen snorted. “You seriously think your brother could kill someone? You’re a bigger moron than he is!”

  I could have hugged her. I’d never been so happy to be called a moron in my life. “How do we know for sure?”

  She frowned at General Eberhart riding his horse from group to group along the bluff. “We gotta find out who dunnit.” She popped her gum for emphasis. “We need a plan.”

  As if we could be a match for a killer who’d already taken out two people. It would have to be one hell of a plan.

  I’d let Aileen figure out the details.

  I picked up my binoculars and stood up. With a little searching I located Torey. She was crouching beside a cannon, clutching a long ramrod with both hands. I focused on her face, flushed in anticipation of battle. A cry went up from the crowd: “Here they go!”

  Union soldiers in their blue coats swept over the ridge from the north. My heart swelled—the Union troops represented the good guys to me, even though my friends were on the other side.

  Their charge was met with complete silence. I peered at Jim through the binoculars, trying to figure out what was going on. He was holding his artillery division back, waiting for the general’s signal. My binoculars homed in on his face, stern and tense. His eyes were remote and cold, the eyes of a fighting man. I was almost sorry I’d come to see this.

  Then the Confederates started yelling, a high-pitched, blood-curdling sound that echoed off the hills—the Rebel Yell. I covered my ears, shivering in the warm sunshine. Jim’s hand thrust down, and the first cannon boomed out over the valley. Smoke swirled from the muzzle, blowing back over the gun’s crew. The cannon recoiled, and the men rushed to reload it.

  Aileen stood up and punched me in the arm, distracting me. “Here’s an idea. Call all four, tell them you think you know who the murderer is, and you’re going to go to the police. Then we’ll see who comes to knock you off.”

  I shook my head. “Great! I’ll be dead, but at least I’ll know who the killer is before I die.”

  She smacked her gum. “Oh, ye of little faith! I’ve got your back, remember?”

  I looked her in the eyes. “Whatever.”

  I sat down and pulled out my phone. Might as well get this over with.

  I’d missed a call from Pete. Aileen plopped down in the grass next to me. I held out the phone so she could hear the message.

  “Daria?” His voice dragged with weariness. “I’m okay; everything’s good.” I could hear the lie in the undercurrent of pain in his voice. “But I’m gonna lay low for a while so the cops don’t find me. Call me—I’ll leave the phone on.” A slight pause. “I love you, Daria. Bye.”

  I stared at my phone, stunned. When was the last time Pete had said, “I love you?”

  “What’s with him?” Aileen said.

  I shook my head, punching numbers carefully into the phone. Pete picked up on the first ring.

  “Pete?” Suddenly I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t say another word.

  “Hey, Daria. Thanks for covering for me. It’s all good now. Kinney’s paid off, so he’s off my back.” I could hear pain oozing through his words. “It’s over.”

  “Are you okay, really?” I said. “You sound awful.”

  “Yeah, I’m . . . tired. I had a hard night. I’ll tell you sometime. How are you? Did the cops give you and Aileen any trouble? I’m sorry I left you holding the bag.”

  “Huh?” It felt like years had passed since Pete took off yesterday afternoon. That was before he’d landed on my short list of murder suspects. “No, the cops let us go. But they’re looking for you. They think you killed Emmett McDowell.”

  “What?” He sounded
genuinely shocked. “Emmett’s dead? And they think I killed him? I never even touched him—you were there!” He groaned. “I wanted to kill him. Is that why they’re looking for me?”

  “Your cap was found next to the body.” I wished I could see Pete’s face, to know if I could still trust him.

  “My Phillies cap?” Pete’s voice shook. “Next to the body? I haven’t seen that cap since that argument with Emmett—I figured he stole it.”

  A cannon boomed in the background. “We think Emmett was killed because of the stolen doll.”

  “The stolen doll? What does the doll have to do with murder?”

  I took a deep breath. Pete had been gone only one night, but he’d missed so much. “You were right—Angeline did have valuables hidden inside her head. Emmett knew, and he must have gotten someone from the encampment to steal her from the museum. Torey overheard Colonel Windstrom talking on the phone about the diamonds and jewels, and then he got himself killed. Then somebody killed Emmett last night at the dance rehearsal. It all fits together, Pete, and it’s all connected to that doll.”

  Pete groaned. “This is the doll that was found in my bedroom. I must be the number-one suspect.”

  “I think I know who the murderer is, but I don’t want to say until I’m absolutely sure.” I glanced at Aileen. She nodded in approval. I grimaced at her, ashamed to be setting a trap for my own brother.

  He accepted my reticence without question. “Are you safe, Daria? You handled the doll, after all. Is anyone coming after you?”

  “I’m okay.” Aileen tapped her long black fingernails in the grass. “I’m with Aileen. No one’s gonna mess with us.”

  “Damn straight,” Aileen muttered, then raised her voice so Pete could hear her. “We eat murderers for lunch, Moron.”

  Pete laughed, the first note of normalcy in the conversation. “Tell her to go easy on the hot sauce.”

  I dutifully repeated it, and Aileen snorted.

  “Where are you now, Daria? Can you guys come pick me up? I’m at the Southern Reserve, down by Rocky Ravine, but my truck is in the Flats.”

  Aileen gasped. Was she thinking what I was thinking? No! It couldn’t be Pete.

  “We’re at Turner Run Park for the reenactors’ battle.” I surveyed the field, now littered with fallen soldiers. “It looks like the battle’s almost over. We can meet you soon.”

  “Thanks. I’ll catch up to you outside the Ranger station there. Listen, Daria, my face is a mess. They beat me up last night.” He didn’t let me respond. “I’m okay, I don’t want you to worry. It looks a lot worse than it is. I just don’t want you to get a shock.” A long pause. “Daria?”

  I held the phone to my ear, shaking my head. Aileen frowned. “Does it ever end?” I finally whispered.

  “It’s over,” Pete said. “I paid off Kinney, and they collected interest by beating me up. That’s the end of it, I swear.” Fatigue dragged at his voice. “Now if I can just stay away from the cops, it’ll all be good.”

  We sat in silence for a moment. I had nothing more to say.

  “I’ll see you soon,” Pete said.

  I nodded. “Okay. See you soon.” I was about to hang up—I had my finger on the button—but instead I cried out, “Pete? I love you, Pete!” He’d hung up.

  I stashed my phone and turned to Aileen. “He’s at the Southern Reserve, down by Rocky Ravine. His face is a mess ’cause he got beat up. Again. He didn’t know about Emmett. I’d swear he didn’t know a thing about any of it.”

  Aileen shook her head, her green feather earrings swishing on her shoulders. “He lives on the wild side, that one,” she said. She smacked her gum emphatically. “Let’s get out of here.”

  The battle wasn’t over. Small groups of soldiers dueled with their bayonets. Torey sparred with a Union soldier twice her size. The fight was probably choreographed, but I still marveled at how easy Torey made it look. The mock battle was so convincing, it wasn’t hard to picture Torey taking the fatal thrust at Colonel Windstrom.

  I shook that thought away.

  I picked up my binoculars and looked for Jim. I’d lost sight of him while talking to Pete. Was he still standing, or had he become a battle casualty? Suddenly I didn’t want to know. I’d had enough of this fake violence while real people were dying. I’d call Jim later tonight, after he’d purged the bloodlust out of his system and transformed back into a respectable accountant. I followed Aileen as she barreled her way through the crowd.

  Aileen drove a beat-up red Ford with black flames painted on the hood. She had left it double-parked in a no-parking zone, and now it sported a ticket underneath the windshield wiper. Cursing, she pulled it off, crumpled it up, and tossed it into the back seat. It landed next to her guitar, on top of a pile of dirty clothes, all leather and metallic embroidery. Even Aileen’s laundry looked intimidating.

  Aileen bypassed the freeway to take us up Watershed Hill. I pulled my phone out of my purse. I hesitated to call McCarthy while the battle was still raging, but I wanted to stick to the plan. For whatever that was worth.

  “Hey, Daria.” McCarthy sounded as carefree as a kid on the first day of summer vacation. “You done with the battle?”

  “Yeah. I called to tell you that I think I know who the murderer is. I’m going to contact the police.”

  “You know who it is?” he asked eagerly. “Who?”

  “I can’t say until after I talk to the police. You have to trust me, Sean.”

  A long pause. “Trust—what are you going to do, Daria?”

  I laughed. “I couldn’t possibly tell you. You’d show up with your old camera, and I’d find myself on the front page of the paper. Someone else is going to get this scoop.”

  McCarthy groaned dramatically. “My zealousness has backfired on me! Don’t shut me out—this is the story of the year.”

  “Bye, Sean.” I cut him off and looked at Aileen, drumming her hands on the steering wheel.

  “Keep an eye out for him. He wants the story, and he’s pretty good at stalking me.”

  She chomped her gum meditatively. It must taste like cardboard by now. “Right. Let’s just see if he comes to knock you off.”

  Aileen pulled over near the river, in sight of the ranger station, and we settled down to wait for Pete. She reached into the back seat and grabbed her guitar. She started to strum as I placed my next call.

  Jim picked up on the first ring. His voice sounded vibrant, alive. “Daria, where are you? I looked for you after the battle, but you were gone.”

  “I had to go.” I didn’t feel like making up excuses. “Listen, it’s just come to me. I think I know who the murderer is.”

  “Whoa.” Silence stretched out on the phone. “Who is it?”

  I gritted my teeth—lying had never been one of my strengths. “I don’t want to say until after I talk to the police.” I tried to assume a light tone. “I just wanted to let you know that the mystery should soon be solved.”

  “Wow—that would be a relief. Just in time for the closing ceremonies for the encampment. Instead of the formal surrender we’d practiced, we’re going to hold a memorial service for Windstrom and McDowell. Will you come? It’s tonight at seven, at Springhill Baptist Church.”

  I closed my eyes and tried to stifle a groan. I hated memorial services. I could never make it through one without crying, even if I didn’t like the deceased. Still, I wanted to support Jim. “Okay, I’ll be there.”

  “Thanks. Say, any word from your brother? Did he show up after the unpleasantness last night?”

  The “unpleasantness.” Calling the gruesome death of a fellow reenactor “unpleasant” might be taking this southern gentility a bit too far. My face flushed. I couldn’t let Jim know that we were waiting for Pete right now. I could just imagine his questions, his concern, his insistence that we contact the police. “Oh, yeah, he’s fine.” Aileen frowned beside me. “He . . . he had to go out of town. I just talked to him a few
minutes ago.”

  Aileen leaned close to me so she could hear what Jim was saying.

  “He went out of town? Just like that?”

  “Uh, yeah. Something came up, and he had to go.”

  Jim was silent for a moment. I wondered if he could tell I was lying. “Did you talk to him about your suspicions?”

  “About the murderer? No, not really. I didn’t want to worry him.”

  He let out a long, low whistle. “You think it was Pete,” he said slowly. “My God! You’re covering for him because you think he’s guilty of murder.”

  My head jerked up and I opened my mouth to retort, but Aileen beat me to it. She snatched the phone out of my hands.

  “Shut the hell up! You don’t know jack about what Daria thinks or doesn’t think. Who do you think you are?” She threw the phone at me. “Don’t say another word to that jerk!” she commanded me.

  Jim’s voice sounded tinny from the phone in my lap. “Daria, I . . . I didn’t mean to offend you. I’m so sorry.”

  I picked up the phone. Aileen hissed in my ear, “Don’t give your brother away.”

  I ignored her incensed breathing. “I have to go. I’ll call you later.” I bit my lip. “You’re wrong about what I think,” I said, “but I’m not offended. Not too much.”

  Jim’s voice shook. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I never meant to hurt you.”

  “I’ll call you tomorrow,” I repeated. “Goodbye, Jim.” I hung up with a rueful glance at Aileen. “So much for our plan.”

  “What a jerk,” Aileen muttered. She rounded on me. “He was fishing for news of your brother, trying to bait you into giving him away. He was really good at it, too.” She smiled apologetically, something I’d never seen or even imagined Aileen doing. “I had to lash out, or you would have, and who knows what you would’ve said.” She indicated my phone. “One more.”

  I took a deep breath and punched in Torey’s number. I tried several times, but all I got was her voice mail message: “If you’re looking for trouble, talk fast.” Who makes a greeting like that? I left a message that I had discovered the murderer’s identity and was headed to the police. I even told her where I was, so I would know if she tried to come knock me off.