by Julie Hyzy
I felt a sharp sinking in my stomach.
“Murder is murder,” she said. “It’s wrong. No matter who does it. No matter what the circumstances. Wouldn’t you agree?”
I nodded dumbly.
They seemed to be waiting for my reaction. “Are you planning to arrest Jack?”
“We’re waiting on some evidence,” she said. “We may be able to tie him to both murders. We suspect the Embers brothers tag-teamed to kill Zachary Kincade. You know what they say about it getting easier each time.”
I couldn’t believe it and I said so. “Did you know,” I said quickly, “that Zachary Kincade was having an affair with one of the re-enactors?”
Their expressions didn’t change.
“She’s married,” I added, “and Zachary told his fiancée that he felt threatened by one of his colleagues. Don’t you think that’s significant?”
“Would this be the jilted fiancée?” Tank asked.
“Yes, but just because he left her at the altar doesn’t suggest she’s lying. What reason would she have for doing so?”
“What reason would she have for coming forward now?” she asked. “Except to clear her two girlfriends of any suspicion.”
I was getting nowhere but had to keep trying. “The husband whose wife was having the affair is named Jeff. I didn’t catch the wife’s name. But my assistant, Frances, could get that for you at a moment’s notice.”
Rodriguez slid forward in his chair. “Ms. Wheaton, I hope we haven’t made a mistake by sharing our suspicions with you. I convinced my partner here that you could be trusted. After working with you last time, I came to know you as a fine, upstanding citizen. I hope you’ll keep this information to yourself. At least until we take action.”
My mouth was dry. “When will that be?”
“Soon.”
I ASKED LOIS TO HANDLE THE OFFICE FOR ME. I needed to act quickly—to do something—although I didn’t know exactly what. As I moved, I planned. Frances needed to understand how imperative it was we come up with something to redirect the finger of guilt away from the Embers brothers.
Forgoing the company van, I raced to the basement, where I hurried through the tunnel that led to underground staff parking and my own car. It would be faster and no one would pay me any mind.
What strange need to protect Jack propelled me? I mean, if truth be told, after the debacle that was my oh-so-brief engagement to Eric, it could be argued that my character-judging abilities could stand some improvement. But I knew deep in my heart that Jack was not guilty of killing Lyle Kincade and I believed both he and Davey were innocent of killing Zachary. What a terrible mess all this was, and no one except Bennett, Frances, and I seemed willing to seek out the truth.
What a peculiar team we made.
The re-enactment was open to the public for another hour or so. I hurried down the small hill and eased my way in. Although the area was as crowded as ever, with tourists milling around and re-enactors going about their 1800-era lives, I spotted Frances right away. Holding her skirt so she wouldn’t trip, she was hurrying across the center of camp from the Confederate to the Union side, shouting over her shoulder to a man following her at a quick clip. Wearing Confederate gray, he was at least sixty years old, hatless, with a trim gray beard and a gut that hung over his belt. At least, I assumed there was a belt under that bouncing mound. Still, he kept up with Frances and that was saying something.
As I drew closer I heard her shout, “How many times must I tell you, Mr. Hennessey, that I am not the least bit interested in helping you clean your weapon.”
Not slowing his pace, he threw back his head and laughed. “But it’s a very special weapon, Frannie honey. The best you’ll ever see. Come on, sweetheart. You and I are meant for one another. I had a dream last night and you were in it. Want to hear what happened?”
I cupped my hands around my mouth. “Frances!”
She turned immediately, her face brightening when she spotted me standing there. Well, wasn’t that a first? She veered in my direction, taking time to glare at the man in her wake. “That’s my boss,” she said, pointing. “Now get away from me before she kicks your backside out of here.”
He stopped long enough to grin and wave. “Nice to meet you, miss. See you later, Frannie,” he called and blew her a kiss.
Coming up to stand next to me, she shuddered. “That man.”
“Your suitor, I take it?”
She made a noise of disgust as she watched him leave. “He’d hit on a tree if he thought it would bear fruit.” Turning to me, she asked, “What brings you down here?”
Now that I was here, I wasn’t sure where to begin. “Have you heard anything more about this affair Zachary was having? Anything at all? About the husband? Do you think he could be the murderer?”
She studied me before she answered. “What happened?”
As much as I wanted to protect Jack and Davey, I’d promised the detectives I wouldn’t talk about their visit. It killed me to say, “Nothing really, just that it’s coming close to a week since the murder and I think the detectives are getting restless.”
Scrutinizing me, Frances nodded. “The Embers boys are in big trouble, aren’t they?”
Surprise must have shown on my face because she added, “No, I’m not psychic and I don’t have a microphone in your office, but from the look on your face and from talking with Gordon”—she waved a hand toward the Confederate camp—“it’s not hard to put two and two together.”
“Gordon Embers? Jack’s father? He’s here?”
“He came to check on Davey. I guess the kid has been getting into this re-enactment more than anyone expected. The Confederate group didn’t know Zachary Kincade all that well, and they don’t have any idea about Davey’s possible involvement, so he’s been spending time there. From what I can tell, he’s fitting in. Tsk.”
“You don’t approve?”
Her brows came together. “Just the opposite. It’s the first time I’ve seen the boy happy since I’ve met him. But if the cops come and arrest him—even if he’s innocent—it’s going to ruin everything for him.”
Compassion from Frances? That was a new side to my assistant I hadn’t anticipated. “What about his dad?” I asked. “You said he’s here?”
“I saw him a few minutes ago.” She looked around, searching.
Mr. Hennessey spotted her and waved an exuberant hello. “Don’t forget about me,” he yelled.
Brushing the air violently as she might a killer fly, she repeated her noise of disgust and continued our conversation. “Gordon Embers is a strong-minded man,” she said, “and he’s fiercely protective of his sons.”
I was about to say something, but she interrupted.
“There he is.” She pointed, then called, “Gordon!”
He looked around before spotting Frances. I immediately saw the family resemblance. So this is what Jack will look like in thirty years, I thought. Carrying about forty extra pounds, Jack’s father was extremely handsome with a full head of salt-and-pepper hair. He made his way over, a questioning look on his face.
“Gordon,” Frances said when he joined us, “this is Grace Wheaton, the . . .” She stumbled over the words, “. . . the new curator. Since Abe died.”
“Yes,” he said, shaking my hand. He had a firm grip and alert, wary eyes. “I’ve heard your name a lot lately. I’m sorry if my boy Davey is causing you any trouble.”
“Not at all,” I said, “he’s great.”
He seemed surprised by my answer. “I came out here to convince him to come home. The last thing he needs is to be hanging around a place where people suspect him of murder.” Gordon wagged his head. “Shame how scandals taint the innocent.”
“Davey’s going home with you, then?”
“Unfortunately not,” he said, looking around. “He told me he wants to stick around a little longer. I guess one of the Union guys loaned him some equipment and a uniform and now he’s hooked in this playacting.”
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br /> I turned to Frances. “I thought you said Davey was on the Confederate side.”
“From what I understand there’s a lot of interaction between teams when they’re not battling. They all converge in that sutlers’ area and around the campfire at night.”
“Ah, that’s right,” I said, remembering. “Pierpont mentioned that, too.”
“Pierpont has been helping Davey learn more about the whole re-enacting business.”
“Seriously?”
She nodded. “That man is relentless about signing new people up. He keeps telling me how much I’d enjoy being a part of the group on a permanent basis. The man is a fanatic.”
“I got that impression,” I said.
Gordon had been listening in. “Who is this guy you’re talking about?”
I explained that Rob Pierpont was the top man on the Union side and that he was soon to be replaced by Jim Florian. I didn’t mention anything about Zachary Kincade, nor about how he had been vying for the general’s position.
“And you say he’s been taking Davey under his wing?” he asked Frances.
She placed a hand on his arm. “Davey seems to be enjoying himself here,” she said. “Maybe you should just let him be.”
He yanked his arm away as though burned. “I want to meet this guy for myself,” he said. “I don’t want some weird costumed idiot talking Davey into doing something stupid.”
“Charming man,” I said when he left.
“Apples don’t fall far from their trees,” Frances said. “Gordon has always been a hothead.” She traced a line along the side of her face, mimicking Jack’s scar. “Remember the fight I told you about.”
I was about to repeat my concern about Frances keeping an open mind, when Jim Florian ambled over. “What brings you down today?” he asked, tipping his hat.
Too much negativity in one day had worn me out. I didn’t have the wherewithal to come up with an excuse that made sense. “Just visiting Frances.”
Addressing my assistant, he said, “Sorry to hear old Hennessey has been bugging you. He’s a character, that one.” Chuckling, he added, “I hope that won’t keep you from joining up. Pierpont says you’re thinking about it.”
From the set of her mouth, I could tell Frances was annoyed. “Not if I have to deal with the likes of him I won’t.”
“Maybe you have a husband who might be interested in re-enacting? If so, you should bring him down here. That would slow Hennessey down, I’m sure.”
Frances scowled and changed the subject. “The election is Saturday isn’t it? How does it feel to be taking over as the new general?”
Florian looked away. “I don’t know,” he said quietly. “I might not be taking over after all.”
“What happened?” I asked.
Squinting into the distance, Florian said, “I told you how I like things to be authentic, you know, not farby. I think it takes away from the experience when you have re-enactors cooking on propane grills or walking around with a handful of Oreo cookies. Just not real, you know?”
I thought about how none of this was real, but kept my mouth shut.
“We talked before that times are changing and people want their little luxuries,” he said with a sigh. “Pierpont and I instituted some stringent guidelines in the months leading up to this event. Rules were supposed to get even tighter for the Gettysburg battle. But that makes sense. Gettysburg is our main event.” Florian gazed out over the group. “Some of the people are chafing at the new guidelines.”
“The younger participants, I’ll bet,” I said.
“You’d be surprised. A lot of the old-timers are getting fed up, too.” Turning to Frances, he grinned. “Your buddy Hennessey is one of them. He keeps a margarita blender in his tent. Geez, how much more farby can you get? Worst of all, he thinks he’s being so clever hiding it from us. But we hear the motor running almost every night.”
Frances wrinkled her nose. “He is not my buddy.”
“Yeah, well, if he doesn’t get rid of the blender, he’s going to get fined.” Florian seemed to forget we were there. “I really want the job, though,” he said. “My dad would have been so proud.”
“Who’s running against you now?” I asked.
“I’m still unopposed, but that’s not the point.” He sighed, deeply. “I have some serious thinking to do.”
“I wish you luck,” I said. Frances echoed my sentiments.
“I’m going to need it.”
Before I left, I asked him, “Do you know anything about an affair Zachary was having with one of the wives out here?”
Florian nodded. “I wondered if anyone would find out about that. Yeah, I know about Zachary and Mary Ellen. But I don’t see Jeff as a suspect. He’s drunk all the time. We all wish Mary Ellen would dump the guy and come out to these events on her own. She’s a nice lady. Really pretty and she’s wasted with a loser like Jeff. Maybe she shouldn’t have been fooling around, but if you met Jeff . . .”
“I’ve met Jeff,” Frances said. “Seemed pretty lucid to me. Furious with Mary Ellen. Especially since she’s taking Zachary’s death pretty hard.”
Florian shrugged.
“You expect us to believe that Jeff didn’t hate Zachary ?” I said. “That he didn’t want him dead?”
Florian looked grim. “Maybe he did, maybe he didn’t. And who knows what any of us are capable of?”
We talked a little longer. “I’d better be getting back,” I said. To Frances, I added, “You’re spending the rest of the day here, I take it?”
She wagged a finger in Florian’s face. “You make sure that Hennessey stays away from me, you hear?”
Chapter 21
BACK AT THE MANOR, I DECIDE TO GRAB A little something to eat in the Birdcage Room. They were still serving afternoon tea, and I was famished. The two-story windowed room jutted out from the back of the mansion to the south. Our harpist was on a break, and the area was beginning to empty out. Since I wouldn’t be taking up the space from a paying customer I sat close to the windows, and asked one of the waitresses to bring me a sandwich and some iced tea.
While I waited, staring out over the patio and the grounds beyond, I couldn’t help think that something wasn’t making sense. Zachary was apparently respected enough to be a shoo-in for the re-enactors’ top job. Yet he was having an affair with a colleague’s wife . . . while engaged to Muffy, a woman he’d jilted at the altar. This didn’t sound like the behavior of a person who was esteemed enough to be voted into office.
Just as my food arrived on a dainty china plate, my cell phone rang. I silenced it as I checked the display. The last thing I wanted to do was disturb the serenity of this elegant room, so I headed outside to the patio to take the call. The number was local, but unfamiliar.
“Grace Wheaton,” I said the moment I pushed through the glass door.
“This is Ron,” he said.
“Who?”
“Ronny.”
It took me a minute. “Tooney?”
“Yeah.” He sighed. “Hey, good news.”
“I’m a little busy right now,” I said as I walked the patio’s outer edge, thinking about my sandwich back inside. Keeping just inside the perimeter of the patio I tried to stay far enough away from meandering guests so as not to bother them.
“The people I took those pictures for?” he went on as though I hadn’t spoken. “They’re 99 percent sure the cat is their Mittens. They want to arrange a time to come pick her up.”
“Wait a minute,” I said, stopping in my tracks. “I haven’t seen any proof. I’m not just handing her over on your say-so.”
“Don’t you trust me?” he asked. A second later, “Don’t answer that.”
“I’m not giving her up, you understand? Not unless you can prove it. And I haven’t seen anything yet, let alone anything convincing. For all I know, you just want that reward and you’re making all this up to take her from me.”
There was silence on Tooney’s end for a long moment. The
n a low whistle. “Pushed a button, did I?”
“It wouldn’t be the first time, Tooney.”
I hung up and returned to my table inside. I sat and stared at my plate realizing I wasn’t hungry after all.
JACK STOPPED BY MY OFFICE THAT AFTERNOON and took a seat at my desk, studying my expression. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
As much as it killed me to keep silent about Tank and Rodriguez’s revelation, I knew how Jack would react if I told him what the police had shared with me. He’d go storming down there in a fit of frustration and that would serve no purpose whatsoever.
I had to think hard before I took a step that could potentially hamper a police investigation. I knew, deep down, that Jack was innocent. He had to be. But I’d been led horribly astray by my heart before and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t determine what the right answer was. Until I knew for certain what I should do, I decided to keep quiet.
Instead of sharing Rodriguez and Tank’s suspicions, I told him about Tooney’s phone call and Jack nodded sympathetically. Not for the first time, I cursed my rule-follower tendencies. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t try to lead Jack to his own conclusions.
“I met your dad today,” I said.
He rolled his eyes. “Down at the re-enactment?” he asked. “I told him to stay home. I can handle Davey.”
“He seemed upset that your brother is hanging out down there.”
“Davey has a history—pardon the pun—of getting involved with a hobby, or a job, or even a girl, and then dropping it for no reason. He’s been like that for a long time.”
Jack didn’t say the words, but I knew what he was thinking. That Davey hadn’t been like this before Lyle Kincade’s murder. “You never know,” I said, “this time may be different.”
“You don’t know Davey.”
“True . . .” I began. I thought about how Pierpont had taken Davey under his wing, and although the fanatical little general would hardly be my first choice for a role model, I’d seen stranger combinations. Maybe what Davey needed was an outsider to point him in a new direction. Maybe like his great ancestor, Henry Embers, Davey just needed a change of venue.