The Final Reveille: A Living History Museum Mystery

by Amanda Flower

  “Oh, yeah, Dad said that she was going to be my new mommy, but I already told him that I had a great mommy and didn’t want another one.” He threw his arms around my legs and hugged me.

  I shot Justin a look over Hayden’s head.

  He raised his hands in surrender. “Don’t look at me like that. He’s just my brother.”

  I sighed and knelt in front of Hayden. “I’m going to have to work extra-long today, so you’ll get to stay with Pop-Pop and Dad, okay?”

  “Will Krissie be there too?”

  “Yes.”

  He sighed. “Okay, but I don’t like her. She’s always talking to me like I’m a baby. I’m not a baby. I’m a big guy, and I’m going to kindergarten next year. They don’t let babies into kindergarten.”

  “No, they don’t,” I agreed. I kissed him on the top of his head.

  My father grunted. I knew he didn’t like the idea of spending the entire day with Eddie. Where I forgave Eddie—well, sort of forgave Eddie—for the affair, my father had never even tried.

  “Justin, can you take Dad and Hayden to the camps and find your brother? I need to take a shower and clear my head.”

  “Sure,” Justin said good-naturedly.

  Tiffin seemed torn as the guys started down the pebbled path. Dad and Justin walked, but Hayden took the path at a skip. His blond hair bounced on the top of his head.

  “Go on, Tiff,” I said.

  The dog gave me one last look, then raced down the path after his boy.

  I picked up the leaf that had fallen at the detective’s feet and twirled it in my fingertips. I carried it through the white picket fence that marked the edges of my front yard, and before entering the cottage, I tossed it on the ground.

  In my tiny living room, I chewed on my thumbnail and ignored the taste of blood. If the chief believed that I or, worse yet, my father was behind Maxwell’s murder, I had no choice but to prove him wrong. An arrest for me could cost me much more than my job and the Farm’s survival. It could cost me Hayden. It would give his father cause to press for full custody. That wasn’t something Eddie had shown interest in before. He and I both seemed happy with the arrangement that we came to together outside of the court. We always had been on the same page when it came to how to raise our son, but that was before Eddie got engaged. Krissie’s appearance in our lives could change everything.

  I knew that I had to talk to Eddie and find out everything that I could about Krissie. I sighed. I thought my biggest problem this weekend would be keeping the reenactors from fighting over hard tack. Murder and a new stepmother for my son had never been in the realm of possibilities.

  I headed to the shower. I had mud from the brick pit encrusted on my polo shirt and under my fingernails. I would feel better when I was clean; at least that’s what I told myself.

  Frankie met me at the top of the stairs, appraising me with his one good eye.

  I leaned down to pet him. “Thanks for scratching that mean police detective.”

  The tiger cat arched his back and hissed.

  I retracted my hand. “Okay, cool. We’ll go back to ignoring each other. That’s fine with me.”

  He ran down the steps.

  Twenty minutes later I was showered and dressed in clean clothes. With my trusty notebook in the back pocket of a fresh pair of jeans, I was ready to face the rest of the day. I glanced at my watch. 9:45. The Farm doors would open in fifteen minutes.

  I was tightening the rubber band at the end of my long French braid when my radio crackled as I hooked it on my belt. “Kelsey, come in?”

  I immediately recognized Ashland’s timid request.

  I removed the radio from my belt. “What is it, Ashland?”

  “We need you at the battlefield.”

  I headed to the door, still talking into the radio. “Is something wrong?”

  “You have to come and see for yourself.”

  Not another dead body, please. One of those was more than enough for me.

  Outside the cottage, I ran down the path through the maple grove back to the main part of the Farm. As I broke through the maple trees, I heard shouts and cries coming from the battlefields. The encampments were empty. I saw a line of gray and blue backs facing me. Everyone was staring at the field. I elbowed my way through men standing shoulder to shoulder, just as they would have in battle. The method of attack was the greatest contributing factor to the high number of casualties during the Civil War. That old Napoleonic style of attack wasn’t suited for the rifle used during the war, a rifle that was accurate at two hundred yards. As I pushed my way through, I muttered apologies.

  Finally, I fought through the ranks and reached the split-rail fence that encircled the battlefield. In the middle of the field, Chief Duffy and three of his deputies stood in a semicircle around two men, one in blue and one in gray, wrestling in the middle of the field. I climbed over the fence. “What’s going on here?” I asked anyone who would listen.

  The chief shook his head. “There’s a dispute over a musket.”

  “Why don’t you try to stop them?” I demanded.

  He pointed at one of his officers. “Parker tried.”

  The young officer held a tissue to his bloody nose.

  The Confederate soldier laid a blow on the Union soldier, whose face I could not see. The soldier in the blue clothing reeled backward and landed flat on his back, holding his chin. It was Wesley, Portia’s ex-boyfriend.

  The Confederate bent over and ripped the musket out of Wesley’s hands. “Don’t touch what doesn’t belong to you, Yank.”

  The Rebel soldiers in the infantry line cheered and whooped.

  I stepped forward and helped Wesley to his feet.

  He rubbed his chin. “Thank you.” His complexion was bright red. He stomped away, and the audience started to break up.

  “Chief, did you interview Wesley?” I asked.

  “I did.” Duffy chewed on a new stick. “He said that he didn’t know about Maxwell’s death.”

  Detective Brandon joined us. I wondered where she came from, as I hadn’t noticed her before. She pursed her lips. “We have interviewed him, Ms. Cambridge. At this time, we have no reason to take him under arrest, but rest assured that we are keeping an eye on him and everyone”—she gave me a pointed look—“who may be involved in Maxwell’s murder.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Hayden slip under the fence and run toward me. “Mom, the camps are so exciting! Can we have a reenactment next weekend too?” Hayden jumped in place.

  I shivered at the very thought and scanned the crowd for Eddie or my father. I wished they had taken Hayden somewhere else during the fight. I didn’t want my son seeing two grown men behaving like children.

  The chief looked down at Hayden. “Who’s this?”

  I wrapped a protective arm around Hayden’s shoulders. “This is my son, Hayden.”

  Chief Duffy scratched his impressive sideburn. “You enjoying the reenactment?”

  Hayden nodded eagerly. “Yep. My mom planned the whole thing. She’s really good at making plans.”

  I felt Detective Brandon watching me. Just because I could plan an event, it didn’t mean I could plan and execute a murder, but I couldn’t say that with Hayden standing there.

  The chief tipped his hat at us. “Well, I hope you will be watching our battle. It’s sure to be exciting.”

  There had already been too much excitement at the Farm for one day as far as I was concerned.

  Eddie hopped over the fence and joined us. Thankfully, Dad and Krissie stayed on the other side. I didn’t see Justin. I hoped he wasn’t flirting with that sixteen-year-old girl again.

  Eddie put a hand on Hayden’s shoulders. “H, you can’t run away from Krissie and me like that.”

  Hayden looked up at his father. “But I was going to see Mom.”
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br />   “Who are you?” Detective Brandon asked.

  Eddie’s eye grew wide when he looked at the police detective. I suspected he noted her beauty. His reaction made me feel bad for Krissie and better for myself. Other women would always catch Eddie’s eye. I hoped the twenty-two-year-old physical therapist knew what she was getting herself into.

  “I’m Edward Cambridge. Hayden is my son.”

  The detective looked at me. “Did you invite the entire family to the occasion, Ms. Cambridge?”

  I clenched my jaw. “Eddie’s here to look after Hayden since I have to work.”

  The detective opened her mouth, but the chief interrupted her by clapping his hand on Detective Brandon’s shoulder. “You had better head out, detective.” He dropped his hand. “Or you will be late for that interview in town.”

  The detective scowled. Clearly, she didn’t want me to hear that. What interview did she have in town? Who was it with? It had to be related to Maxwell’s murder. That was the biggest case in the town, possibly the biggest case the county has ever seen.

  The detective left, and the chief returned to his men. Apparently the murder of a prominent heir in the community wouldn’t keep him away from his reenactment weekend.

  Fourteen

  The Farm opened at ten o’clock sharp, and visitors began pouring into the encampments. The battle wouldn’t be until two in the afternoon, but the visitors would have plenty to look at in the camps until then. Many of the reenactors allowed the Farm guests inside their tents and answered their questions about life during the Civil War. Over the noise, I heard Abraham Lincoln begin the Gettysburg Address. Despite its repetition, I never tired of hearing it.

  I climbed over the fence, and Eddie handed Hayden to me over the top rail before climbing over himself. I tickled Hayden before setting him on the grass next to his grandfather.

  Eddie dusted off the back of his pants. “We had better head home. I have several appointments with clients today at my office. Are you ready to go, H?”

  Hayden’s eyes grew to the size of duck eggs. “I don’t want to leave. I want to see the battle. I promised the general that I would stay.”

  Eddie pursed his lips together. “Buddy, your mom and I think it would better if you spent some time with Krissie and me since she’ll be so busy with the reenactment.”

  Hayden turned to me with tears in his eyes. “Mom, you promised that I would get to see the camps and battle.”

  I squatted in front of my son. “I know I did, Hayden, but Dad and I both think it would be better if you spend the night at his house.”

  “Do we have to go now?” His blue eyes filled with tears.

  I looked up at Eddie.

  My ex-husband sighed. “I have to go. I have to work and can’t stay here all day. I suppose you can stay until I get home from work.”

  My father grinned. “I’ll stick with him. You’ll enjoy seeing the encampments with your gramps, won’t you, Hayden?”

  The five-year-old grinned. “Yes! I’ll stay with Pop-Pop.”

  Eddie didn’t look like he was keen on the idea but didn’t know how to get out of it without earning a tantrum from our son.

  “I can stay too,” Krissie said. “I can keep an eye on Hayden. We will have a great time, won’t we, Hayden?”

  Hayden stepped closer to Dad.

  “Krissie, I would hate to leave you here all day,” Eddie said.

  “I don’t mind,” she said quickly. “It will give me a chance to get to know Kelsey better.”

  A muscle in my jaw twitched. “Now that that’s settled, I need to get to work. Stay with Pop-Pop, okay, buddy?” I hugged my son before returning to the visitor center.

  I was just walking toward the employee entrance when Laura called my name. I turned around and met her under a maple tree that overlooked the Union camp. Since the village was closed, she wore a Farm shirt instead of her period costume.

  “Did I just see Eddie leaving the encampments?”

  “Probably.” I let the door close after us and ran a hand over my tired eyes.

  “And did I see your father and son walk into the camps with a stunning young woman just now?”

  “Yes,” the word came out like a whimper.

  “And she is?” Laura dug her fist into her hips.

  “Eddie’s fiancée.”

  Laura’s mouth fell open. “What?”

  “You seem more upset that Eddie is engaged than that I’m a murder suspect.”

  She waved away my comment. “The murder thing will go away. This stepmother-for-Hayden thing could go on for a while.”

  “A while?” I forced a laugh. “You don’t think Eddie’s second marriage will last forever?”

  “Considering his track record, no.”

  I scowled because that track record was also a reflection of me.

  She backpedaled. “Not that your next marriage won’t last. Speaking of marriage, did you see the Union camp’s medic?” She fanned herself. “He can take my temperature any time.”

  I glanced across the battlefield. “I’ve met him.”

  Just then Chase turned and caught me looking and smiled. Crud.

  “That’s the guy I found standing over Maxwell’s dead body. I don’t think he’s a good candidate for whatever you are about to suggest.”

  Her eyes twinkled. “Who said that I was pointing him out for your sake? I might want to get to know him first.”

  “Fine.” I shrugged. “Go ahead. He’s just a murder suspect to me.”

  “Uh-huh.” Her mouth quirked into a half smile.

  I glanced at my watch. The visitors kept coming out of the center. I was surprised by the number. There seemed to be twice as many as had been there at this time yesterday. Tomorrow being Saturday, the crowd would be even larger. I couldn’t let this incident of Maxwell’s death dampen all that I had achieved with the reenactment.

  “I don’t think I stand a chance,” Laura said. “Blondie over there won’t take his eyes off of you. I think you have an admirer.”

  “Not likely. He wants to help me find out what happened to Maxwell.”

  “Even better. That would require a lot of alone time.”

  “Laura, I have work to do, and I’m a murder suspect. Can we leave the matchmaking for another day?”

  “I’ll just say one more thing. Then I’ll drop it for now.”

  I sighed. “What?”

  “The divorce has been final for three years. It’s okay to let yourself date again. Have some fun. I’m not asking you to get married.” Her face softened. “Not every guy is like Eddie.”

  I squeezed her hand. “I know you’re only saying this because you love me, but I’m not going to throw myself at the first handsome man who smiles at me.”

  She sighed. “I wish you would.” She smoothed her hair, which was pinned back for her interpreter outfit even though she was in modern clothing. It would allow her to make a quick change in case the village opened sooner than expected. “If you aren’t interested, I may take a crack at him.”

  “Crack away,” I said. “Just be on the lookout for a syringe.”

  “A syringe?”

  “That’s how Maxwell was killed.” I went on to tell her about the brickyard and the bees.

  “That’s so cold, even for Maxwell.” She placed a hand on her chest. “Do you think he felt the bee stings?”

  I shook my head.

  “That’s something to be thankful for.” She headed toward the Union camp.

  I was about to enter the visitor center for a second time when Ashland, gasping for breath, came running at me. I grabbed both of her arms to steady her. I should have my studious assistant take some strength-training classes. One of these days, she was bound to snap an ankle on those spindly legs of hers.

  “Thank you.” She took a breath. �
�Everything seems to be going smoothly. I went out front and told the crowd waiting in line that the village end of the Farm was closed, but they could purchase tickets for the reenactment at a reduced rate. They seemed to be satisfied with that.”

  I made a checkmark in my notebook next to adjust ticket prices. “Great. I have a research project for you.”

  “Oh?” She perked up. Ashland loved research. Someday I could see her with her PhD, poring over archives in the basement of some obscure library somewhere, searching restlessly for one fact. As much as I relied on her, I knew living history work was not her forte because it involved the living. Ashland did better with people long dead.

  “I need you to research all the nonprofits in the county that the Cherry Foundation funds. The foundation might support others in different parts of the state or even country, but we’ll start closer to home.”

  “But why?” she asked.

  “The police think I killed Maxwell because once he got control of Cynthia’s money, he planned to remove funding from Barton Farm.”

  She turned gray. “He can’t do that.”

  “He could and he was going to. Barton Farm can’t be the only nonprofit that Maxwell planned to leave hanging. Maybe someone from one of the other operations that the foundation sponsored killed him.”

  She started writing furiously in her little blue memo notebook, which was identical to my own. I hid a smile, flattered that Ashland wanted to mimic me. She was the perfect person for this research job.

  Another idea struck me. “Oh, and cross-reference that list with the reenactor roster. Look for last names that match or anything that shows someone from one of the organizations the Cherry Foundation funded would be here on the grounds with the reenactment. It’s a long shot, but it’s the best I’ve got.”

  She made another note. “What if there is no possible way someone from one of those organizations was on the Farm?”

  “That means it was either a reenactor”—I thought of Chase—“or a Farm staffer. But the motive will be much less clear.”

  She gasped. “No one on our staff would do such a thing.”