“Please, I don’t weigh anywhere close to a hundred pounds, and he could pick you up no problem,” I said. I hated it when Laura commented on her weight. She was beautiful just the way she was.
“Maybe he would sling me over his shoulder, pirate style,” she chuckled.
“Ow,” I cried.
“Sorry, I must have gotten a little carried away with my teasing. Your dramatic rescue is all anyone has talked about today.”
“I bet. That’s so embarrassing.”
She selected a round brush from the table. “A normal woman would be thrilled with having a handsome man rescue her.”
“I’m not accustomed to being rescued and can’t say that I like it.” I winced as she tugged on my hair. What was she doing back there?
“You should be glad that Chase came along. Who knew how long you might have been down there, or if whoever put you there was on his way back to finish the job?”
I shivered. I knew I was lucky, but I had someone to thank more than Chase: Jason. I hoped he wouldn’t leave now that he knew I knew he was living on the Farm. That’s not what I wanted. “Have you seen Jason today?”
“No, but I hardly see him on a normal day, and this is not a normal day.”
“Far from it,” I agreed.
“Why do you think you were hit on the head?”
“Whoever killed Maxwell must think I’m too close to discovering who he or she is. The truth is, they’re wrong. I couldn’t be further from knowing who the killer is.”
“I think you should pay attention to the warning. The reenactors will be leaving tomorrow. Let it be.”
“I can’t,” I said.
She sighed. “I can see from the look on your face that you’re determined to ignore me.”
“Maybe we can run through the suspects?”
She sighed again. “Fine.”
“There is Jamie the business partner.”
“What’s his problem?”
“He and Maxwell were the main investors in that failed construction project. They lost a huge amount of money in the mall on Kale Road, but the police chief gave him an unbreakable alibi. He’s out.”
She waved her brush in the air. “Besides, if Maxwell was going to be given power over millions of dollars from Cynthia, why would Jamie knock him off? Now he has no money and a lot of useless land.”
“Good point. There’s Shepley.”
“Shepley?”
“He is in charge of the beautification project for New Hartford. Cynthia was planning to support it, but Maxwell promised not to.”
She grimaced. “I’m glad I wasn’t there when Shepley was told. Did his head start to spin?”
“And it was his bees that were used for the murder. Plus, I learned today that Wesley died from eating lily of the valley.” At her silence, I added. “Lily of the valley is a toxic plant, and Shepley has a crop of it in his medicinal garden.”
“That garden is built like a high-security prison.”
I nodded.
“Wouldn’t that be kind of dumb for him to use his own bees and his own flowers? And I can’t see Shepley plotting such a methodical murder. I mean, it’s never any secret what the guy is thinking or feeling. He screams in your face on a regular basis, and you’re his boss. I would think it would be much more likely if he grabbed one of the soldiers’ rifles and shot Maxwell in the heart in front of the entire Farm.”
I had to agree that Laura had given a pretty good assessment of Shepley’s character. “There’s the fiancée, Portia.”
“If she was marrying him for his money, she won’t get any now. If I were her, I would have waited a few years after the wedding and then poisoned him.”
“Should I be concerned that you’ve thought out the best way to kill people?”
She grinned. “Not at all.”
“She’s also Wesley’s ex-girlfriend. She dumped Wesley so she could marry Maxwell for money.”
“See, there you go. She’d have no reason to kill her sugar daddy until he put a wedding band on her finger.” She selected another brush. I was beginning to wonder how many brushes were necessary in a normal woman’s daily routine. I was more of a wash and braid girl. Laura waved the paddle brush back and forth over my head as she spoke. “Wesley is the young man the police believe is behind it.”
“Right.”
“The confession letter that the chief found sounded pretty convincing.”
“Did you see it?”
“Heard about it. You know how everyone talks around here.”
“I’m not convinced…” I trailed off. “Then there’s Chase.”
She yanked on my hair. “The Union hero? No way.”
“Ow!” I cried. “Be careful. I did just get knocked on the back of the head with a brick.”
“I’m sorry.” She pulled the brush through much more slowly this time. “If you didn’t braid your hair so tightly, you wouldn’t have these kinks.” She clicked her tongue. “How can you even think it was Chase after he saved you?”
“Saving has nothing to do with it. He has an alibi,” I said. I told her about Chase’s sleeping at the firehouse the night of Maxwell’s murder.
“I knew he couldn’t have done it.” She pushed four bobby pins into my head. “Wanna know what I think?”
“Not really,” I said as another bobby pin jabbed into my scalp.
“Too bad. You’re going to hear it anyway.” She removed the last bobby pin from her mouth. “I think you’re afraid of him.”
“What?” I jerked forward in my seat.
She pulled me back me by the shoulder. “Don’t move, you’ll ruin my masterpiece. And I’m right; you’re afraid of Chase.”
“That the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”
“You’re afraid of him because you’re attracted to him and don’t know what to do about it. You’ve been in love with Eddie since you were fourteen years old. It must be odd to have romantic feelings for someone else.”
I stared at my hands clenched together on my lap. How was Laura able to nail me so well? It wasn’t until she said this that I knew it was true. I had only ever loved Eddie. I’d never looked at another man in that way, even since the divorce. Hayden, the Farm, and even my father were distractions from finding someone else. Little did I know I would stumble over someone playing dead on my pastureland. But even if Laura was right, that didn’t mean I had to admit it to her.
“I might find him attractive.”
She laughed. “If that’s as far as you are willing to confess, I will take it.” She patted my hair. “My masterpiece is done. Now get upstairs into your dress.”
In my bedroom, I stepped in the hoop skirt and slipped on the corset. Laura stood behind me. “This is going to hurt.”
I held up my hand to stop her. “Don’t pull too tight.”
“I just pull tight enough to get the dress on you. It’s tiny. There wasn’t a whole lot of selection in the costume closets. Most of the women’s clothing was everyday dresses and aprons.” She pulled on the corset strings. “Suck it in.”
I took a deep breath as she pulled the string. I felt like my ribs were about to crack. “Okay, okay! That’s tight enough.”
“Are you sure? With another tug, I can take your waist down another inch.”
“No. This is fine. Breathing is really important to me.”
She tied the strings. “Okay, it’s my turn. Pull as tight as you can. I’m willing to sacrifice breathing.”
I rolled my eyes and stepped behind her. I yanked on her corset strings with all I had.
“Ow!” she cried.
I froze. “Am I hurting you?”
“Nope,” she winced. “That was just right. Tie it off.”
I did as I was told and she admired herself in the mirror. “I have to say I’m looking
pretty good. I would wear this every day if it didn’t threaten to break one of my ribs or cause internal bleeding.”
I lifted her heavy dress over her head and helped her into it. I did the buttons up her back. “You’re beautiful.”
“I’m not bad, but I can’t wait to see you in your dress.” She picked the blue gown off of the bed and slipped it over my head. With practiced fingers she fastened the dozens of cloth buttons up the back.
Side by side we stared in the mirror. “Don’t we look like a couple of fine ladies?” she asked. “I feel like Robert E. Lee or someone equally grand should escort us to the ball.”
I arched an eyebrow. “Not Grant?”
“That guy was a drunk.”
I twirled in front of the mirror, a move I wouldn’t have done in front of any person other than Laura. I had to admit, I didn’t look half bad, but Laura—with her peaches and cream skin and sparkling green eyes—was gorgeous. Her dress was off the shoulder, like mine. The cut made me look smaller, but it enhanced all Laura’s curves. She would have a full dance card tonight.
“Well, we’ll have to be satisfied with my father as an escort.” I glanced at the clock on my bedside table. “He should be home soon from his matinee performance of Hamlet.”
“Works for me.” She examined my dress. “I did a wonderful job making you up. This might be some of my best work. You look like Scarlett O’Hara come to life.”
I snorted. “Right.”
“No really, Kelsey, you are beautiful. Chase Wyatt doesn’t stand a chance.”
I peered into the full-length mirror. Laura was wrong. It was I who didn’t stand a chance.
“Hello, hello,” my father called from the bottom of the stairs. “I’m home and changed from my fifteen-century attire to my nineteenth-century. Are you ladies ready for the ball?”
Dad waited for us at the bottom of the stairs. He wore his Union dress uniform—all of it for the occasion of the ball. He grinned. “My. Aren’t I lucky man to escort you two beauties to the ball?”
“Thank you, Mr. Renard.” Laura looped her arm through his.
Tiffin placed his head on his pillow. He didn’t like the idea of being left at home during the ball, but I couldn’t have him barking at everyone or trying to herd the guests during dances.
Thirty-six
It was a perfect early summer night. I smiled. The weather was another thing that went right this weekend. Maybe it wasn’t a complete disaster. Grandmother Renard would be proud of me for counting my blessings.
Ladies and gentlemen poured out of the visitor center in their best 1863 garb. Some of the women carried ruffled parasols and shaded their faces from the setting sun. Others dripped with jewels that I prayed weren’t real. I wouldn’t comment on the historic inaccuracy of the jewels. Women of the time didn’t have so much finery. If they had it, they certainly would not have worn it in public and attracted attention. Instead many wealthy ladies buried their jewelry in their gardens and prayed it would still be there when the war was over.
Union and Confederate privates stood shoulder to shoulder outside of their respective camps. Those that had dress uniforms changed into them, but not all did. Just like during the Civil War, some men couldn’t afford more than one uniform. I caught myself searching the Union side for Chase.
One of my seasonals, a teenager dressed as a New York newsie, directed traffic.
My father nodded and smiled at anyone who passed him. I hid a smile as he fully embraced his Civil War–era persona. The only thing I wished was that Hayden was there. It would be a great experience for my son to see history really come alive. Of course, living on the Farm he saw that more than any other child his age, but this was a special event. Maybe next year he would be able to attend.
We crossed the road into the village. As I had directed, the sides of the tent had been rolled up, and the period band was in the corner of the tent playing chamber music until the ball really began.
Ladies and gentlemen walked arm in arm around the green like they were on a promenade in Washington DC. Most of my staff was there in period dress, including Benji, who was stunning in a canary yellow gingham dress. It was the first time I had seen her out of her dusty brickmaking clothes. Jason, unsurprisingly, was MIA.
I let go of Dad’s arm. “I’m going to check on the caterers.” I headed to the food tent. My stomach rumbled with the welcoming smells. The dishes stayed warm in chafing dishes along two long tables. I couldn’t remember if I ate much during the day, but I was sure hungry now. A woman in a white chef’s hat stood behind one table slicing an enormous roast. Beside the roast were an uncut turkey and a ham. In addition to traditional banquet food like the meats, salad, steamed vegetables, and potatoes, I also asked the caterers to make special dishes that were popular during the Civil War, like soda biscuits, sweet potato wafers, and Kentucky snap peas. Because food was so scarce during the war, especially in the South, I suspect that our period food tasted a lot better than what the men had eaten on the front.
Drinks consisted of lemonade, sweet tea, coffee, and hot tea, and there was a cash bar for anyone who wanted something stronger. Mason jars served as the cups.
I smiled at the caterer. “Everything looks perfect. I’ll announce the opening of the ball in the big tent soon, so get ready. They’ll flock your way right after that.”
She smiled. “We’ll be ready.”
I returned to the big tent. In addition to the chandeliers overhead, electric lanterns hung from iron posts outside the tent and around the grounds. The waiters—also in costume—passed appetizers on trays among the guests.
The chief in his dress uniform walked into the tent holding the hand of a dowager-looking woman in a velvet evening gown. To my surprise Detective Brandon was behind them, and she wore an emerald green ball gown as well. She was breathtaking. I found myself gasping. Suddenly I wasn’t feeling quite as confident in my own gown as I had just a few minutes ago.
The chief smiled broadly at me. “Quite an event you have here, Kelsey. Wonderful job.”
“Thank you,” I said.
He placed his hand on the hilt of his period revolver. “I’m glad that this business with the murder has been all cleared up before today. Nothing should ruin the ball. May I present my wife, Mrs. Edith Duffy.”
I got the feeling that the chief wanted me to curtsey. “Nice to meet you.”
The woman examined me. “Yes, my nephew Chase has mentioned you. I can see why. You’re a lovely girl. It would be nice if he took an interest in a lady for once.”
I found myself blushing. Truth be told, I wasn’t much of a lady. I spent most of my days in jeans. Behind Edith, Detective Brandon stiffened. It was very subtle, but I noticed it.
“You have a nice spread for the ball tonight,” Mrs. Duffy continued. “The roast looks delicious. And I’m surprised at the turnout. This is the first reenactment event the chief has been able to drag me to. I’m afraid I’m not much for history,” she said apologetically.
I smiled. “I hope you enjoy your evening.”
Behind her I saw Cynthia accepting a glass of punch from a server. “Oh, I see Cynthia. If you excuse me, I’d like to say hello to her.”
“Of course,” Edith said. “We already gave her our condolences.”
I nodded and wove through the dance tent to the punch bowl. “Cynthia?”
She turned and smiled. It wasn’t her typical bright smile; that would take some time to return.
I squeezed her hand. “Cynthia, I’m so happy to see you here, but you didn’t have come.”
“I didn’t want to miss your big moment, my dear. I’m finding going out and seeing people helps. I was refreshed after the play last night.”
I covered her hand with mine. “Then I’m glad you came. This event is as much your doing as my own. You know I can never thank you enough for everything you’ve done f
or the Farm and for Hayden and me.”
She smiled. “Please stop thanking me. You know the pleasure is all mine. You look so lovely tonight, Kelsey. I know you’ll worry about all the little details of the ball, but I want you to let someone else worry about concerns for a change. This is your moment. Enjoy it.”
Ashland stood beside the band and waved to me frantically.
I laughed. “I think that’s my cue to open the ball.”
Cynthia smiled. “Go on, dear.”
I crossed the tent and took the microphone from Ashland. “Ashland, you look beautiful.”
My assistant wore a floral ball gown that was off the shoulders, showing off her delicate clavicle bones. Even though the rest of her was covered, I had never seen her in something so revealing. I was surprised by the firm muscles in her shoulders.
Her face, neck, and chest turned bright red. “Thank you.”
“Good evening,” I said into the mic.
When the crowd continued to talk, I spoke a little more loudly. “Good evening!”
The ball goers quieted down.
“For those who don’t know, I’m Kelsey Cambridge, the director of Barton Farm. I would like to thank you for coming to our first annual Blue and Gray Ball.”
The crowd applauded. I waited for the noise to die down before I continued. “I would like to thank everyone who made the ball and the reenactment this weekend possible. First, I thank Cynthia Cherry and the Cherry Foundation. We could not have done this without their continued support. In particular, Cynthia, I give you my personal thanks for everything that you’ve done for Barton Farm, my family, and for me. Your selfless giving is a true inspiration to everyone in New Hartford and at Barton Farm.” I fought back tears. Cynthia beamed at me from the crowd. I cleared my throat. “I would also like to thank all the reenactors who camped out on the grounds over the last four days. Thank you for sharing your hobby with our visitors. I think many of them have new appreciation for American history, especially the Civil War. I also have to thank the wonderful staff here at Barton Farm, especially my assistant Ashland George, who took on so much planning for this weekend.”
The Final Reveille: A Living History Museum Mystery Page 24