The Final Reveille: A Living History Museum Mystery (4 page)

Six

After I hung up
with the police, I watched the man look at Maxwell more closely. “You should get out of there.” My voice shook.

He nodded and climbed out of the pit.

“You probably shouldn't have gone into the pit with him in the first place. The police won't like it.” I heard my mother-hen voice come out as it always did in times of stress. The present situation certainly qualified.

“I'm a paramedic. I was just checking his vitals to see if I could help.” He ran a hand through his blond hair, and mud clung to his bangs. Something about the image struck me as familiar. I shook the thought away and concentrated on the situation at hand. Poor Maxwell.

I bit my lip. “Could you help?”

He shook his head. “No, I think he's been dead for several hours.”

Beside the pit, I saw Maxwell's dress shoes. His black socks were rolled up into a ball and neatly tucked into the right shoe. His trousers were rolled up to mid-calf. If I didn't know better, I'd think it looked like Maxwell had tried to make bricks in his suit. “What was he doing here?” I said, mostly to myself.

“Hard to tell. Is he supposed to be in the village?”

“No,” I replied.

I felt the paramedic watching me. “Then what's his connection to Barton Farm?”

My gaze flicked to his face.

“Sorry, I'm used to shooting off questions when I arrive on a scene. Just force of habit, I guess.”

In the early morning light, I saw that his eyes were a dark chocolate brown. I looked away and concentrated on Maxwell in the pit. I swallowed hard and willed myself not to throw up. I'd seen a dead body before. I had even picked out the casket for my mother's funeral when I was only eighteen. My father had been too broken up to do it. However, I'd never seen one like this, so out in the open, so recently gone.
Damage control, Kelsey,
I told myself.
Damage control with a capital D
.

“I'm Kelsey Cambridge. I'm the director of Barton Farm.”

“I know,” he replied.

I bristled. “I'm at a disadvantage then. What's your name?”

“Chase Wyatt.” I saw a flash of a dimple when he smiled.

“I need to make another call.” I stepped a few feet away.

I supposed the bugler had been a blessing in disguise because if I had gotten up at my normal hour, Hayden would be with me on this farm walk. He loved to accompany me on my early-morning rounds, and he was especially excited this weekend with the reenactors on Farm property.

Tiffin galloped to me from the barn, but Jason didn't appear. I wouldn't be surprised if my shy farmhand hid throughout the morning. As I listened to my cell phone ring, I clicked on Tiffin's leash. He whimpered and strained against it.

“Sorry, Tiff,” I whispered. “I can't have you jumping into the brick pit.”

My father answered the phone with his usual jovial tone.

“Dad, I need you to do me a favor. You need to keep Hayden inside the cottage for a little while.”

“It's a beautiful day and the rapscallion is up and ready to see the encampments.”

I sighed and knew Hayden would never be satisfied with being cooped up in the cottage with so much excitement going on. “Fine, but keep him on that side of the road, where the reenactors are. Under no circumstance are you to bring him into the village.”

“Why? What's going on?” My father's voice lost some of its jovial quality. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, I'm fine, but there's been an accident,” I said. Against my will, my eyes traveled to Maxwell's glassy face. “And someone's been hurt … ” my voice trailed off.
Hurt
was putting it mildly.

“What? Who is it?” Dad asked. “Did one those would-be soldiers shoot himself in the foot?”

I caught the paramedic watching me. “I can't talk right now. I'll tell you everything when I get home.”

I heard sirens approaching. Tiffin sat up straight on high alert.

“Are those sirens?” my father asked.

“Yes. I have to go now. Just keep Hayden on that side of the road.”

“Okay, honey. Call if you need anything.”

“I will,” I promised.

The ambulance and two police cars following it ignored the
pedestrians only
sign that marked the pebbled path leading from Maple Grove Lane into the village. I winced. I didn't want to be around when Shepley, our cranky gardener, saw the damage to his lawn.

A New Hartford police officer in a navy uniform walked up the path with a deliberate stride. “Are you Kelsey Cambridge?”

“Yes.”

“Where's the body?”

“Maxwell Cherry. He's—”

“Hey, Sonders,” Chase said from behind me.

“Chase, hey man, how'd you get here so fast?” the officer asked.

The two men clasped hands, and Chase said. “I found the body. Not pretty.”

“Give me the lowdown.” Officer Sonders bypassed me and went directly to Chase for the play-by-play of our gruesome discovery. I watched them walk away with a pang of irritation. I know that shouldn't have bothered me. Chase was a paramedic after all. He would know the information the police wanted to hear. Even though it should not have bothered me, it did. The Farm and what happened here was my responsibility.

The two paramedics and a second officer waved at Chase as they surveyed the brick pit.

I stood on the pebbled path wondering what to do as a man dressed in a Confederate uniform crossed the township road. I stopped him.

“I'm sorry. The village isn't open yet. There's been an accident.” I looked around. Shouldn't a police officer be guarding the road, so something like this didn't happen?

“I'm Chief Duffy, New Hartford police chief.”

“I'm so sorry, Chief Duffy.” I felt my face grow hot. “I didn't recognize you in your uniform.”

The chief finger-combed his sideburns, which were reminiscent of Union General Ambrose Burnside's magnificent whiskers. Considering how large and signature Burnside's sideburns were, the chief must have grown his purposely for the reenactment. They were truly a sight to behold. Why he, who reenacted as a Confederate general, would want to emulate a failed Union general I did not know.

“It's the sideburns,” Chief Duffy said. “The sideburns throw everyone off. It's been nice to be a part of the reenactment incognito. I suppose the jig is up now. Where's the body?”

I pointed. “In the brick pit. An ambulance and two officers are already here.”

“Oh good, Chase's here too, I see. He must have gotten a call about the incident while camping on the other side of the road too.”

I cleared my throat. “I found Chase when I discovered the body.”

“So you mean
he
discovered the body. He's the one I should talk to, then?” He leaned over and patted my stoic dog between the ears.

I ground my teeth. “No, that's not what I mean. I discovered the body, but I also discovered Chase crouching over Maxwell.”

“Maxwell?”

“Maxwell Cherry. He's the one who had the accident.”

Chief Duffy whistled. “So,” he said with an appeasing tone, “you discovered the body second then. Is that a fair statement?”

“Yes.” I took a step closer to the chief and lowered my voice. “I found Chase's behavior suspicious.”

“You can't be implying that Chase had anything to do with this. He's a paramedic, one of us, one of the good guys.”

“Just because he's a paramedic doesn't make him innocent. I asked him what he was doing standing over Maxwell's body.”

The chief looked me up and down. “He also happens to be my nephew.”

“Oh,” I swallowed. “Oh.”

The chief leaned in. “And what did Chase say?”

“That he was checking for vitals and seeing if he could help.”

The chief shrugged. “See, what did I tell you? He's one of the good guys. Now, I'd better check into this. One of my officers will be over in a few minutes to question you. Stay around the brickyard please.”

I held out my hand to stop him. “Sir, I hate to bother you about this now, but what do we do
about the reenactment? Should we cancel it for the day?” Even as I said it, I felt my heart drop. It was Friday, and with clear skies
predicted, it promised to be one of our busiest days of the reenactment, if not the best attendance the Barton Farm had ever seen.

“You can't cancel the reenactment,” Chief Duffy said in horror. “The boys have been waiting for this for months.”

“I don't want to cancel it, but—”

“I'll tell you what. Since the battlefield and camps are on the other side of the grounds, I don't see any problem with leaving that side open. I have to get my bearings to see how serious this is, but why don't you simply close the village at least for part of today?”

I agreed.

Another police department car arrived. This one drove over the corner of Shepley's wild flower garden near the road. Two more officers got out.

“There are some more of my boys now. You stay right here. An officer will be along shortly to get your statement,” the chief promised.

Seven

Twenty minutes later, I
was still waiting for one of Chief Duffy's officers to talk to me. I called Laura at home and explained what happened.

“Maxwell Cherry is dead, and he died at the Farm?” Laura's voice was breathless in my ear.

I took a deep breath. “Yes.”

A new car pulled onto the lawn. An African-American man who looked like he doubled as a bodybuilder jumped out of the car with a medical bag.

“I think the medical examiner just arrived,” I told Laura.

“The medical examiner? Are you serious? Was he murdered?”

My chest tightened. “What? Why would you ask that?”

“Well, he was found in the brick pit. Can you imagine him climbing in there voluntarily?”

I couldn't but said, “That doesn't mean he was murdered. The police haven't said he was.” I shivered as I watched the giant medical examiner look down into the brick pit.

“But you never know. Maxwell wasn't exactly universally liked.”

I bit my lip, wondering if I should tell Laura about my argument with Maxwell the day before. Instead I focused on the Farm. “I need your help.”

“Of course. Anything.”

I wrapped Tiffin's leash more tightly around my right hand as he tried to pull me toward the brick pit. “Call all the interpreters and tell them the village will be closed for today. If they'd like to come in to work to help with the reenactment, that would be okay. It's not required though.”

“I hope I have all their phone numbers,” she said slowly.

“I gave each employee a list of contact numbers for the staff.”

“I know you did,” she replied. “It's here somewhere. I just have to find it. Don't worry about the staff, Kelsey, I'll call them.”

“After you do that, call the visitor center staff. I need the opposite from them—I need them to come in early. If we need to close the village side of the Farm, we'll have to figure out how to handle ticket sales. It doesn't seem fair to charge our guests full price if half of the museum is closed.”

“I'm on it. I'm sure Judy will have a great solution.”

I knew she was right. Judy was a retired accountant and our resident math whiz. She would have a solution for the ticket sales in no time, probably even before I got back to my office. “Thanks, Laura.”

“Any time.” She paused, and I could almost hear the wheels turning inside her head. “How are you?”

Tears pricked the back of my eyes. “Okay. It's not how I wanted to start my day, but I'll be fine. Maxwell is another story.” I thanked her and ended the call. I watched the medical examiner unzip the body bag and shivered. He hadn't spent much time examining the body. Maybe Maxwell's bare swollen feet and severe bee sting allergy made the cause of death self-explanatory. One paramedic and one police officer spread the bag on the grass parallel to Maxwell's body in the pit.

“Hey, are you all right?”

I turned toward the voice. Chase had his hands in his jeans pockets and he rocked back onto his heels.

I nodded. “Yes, I'm fine.”

He looked concerned. “Was Maxwell a friend of yours?”

“Not exactly, but he was a relative of a good friend.” My chest tightened.
Cynthia
! The thought struck me like a jolt. How is possible that I hadn't thought of her until that moment? Who was going to tell her? The police? How would they tell her?

I left Chase balanced on the heels of his sneakers and headed straight for Officer Sonders. The officer snapped digital photographs of Maxwell's socks and shoes sitting beside the pit. He glanced at me. “Do you know why he may have taken off his shoes?”

“If he wanted to get the mud ready to make brick, that's what he would have done. It's much easier and more effective to knead the mud and clay with bare feet. What I don't understand is why he may have wanted to make bricks, especially in the middle of the night without any Barton Farm staff around to assist him.”

Officer Sonders nodded thoughtfully.

“I'm so sorry to interrupt, but who's going to tell his aunt?” I asked.

He lowered his camera. “Is she the next of kin?”

“I suppose so. Neither of them have any other family that I know of.”

“If she's the next of kin, the chief will inform her.” He gave me an apologetic smile.

“She's not well. The news might be a shock and have an effect on her health.”

His smile faded. “What's wrong with her?”

“Congestive heart failure.”

He made a note. “Don't worry. We'll keep that in mind when we speak to her. Do you mind waiting over by Chase?”

I shook my head.

When I was back on the path next to Chase, he said, “You don't remember me, do you?”

I gave him a blank look in return. “Have we met before?”

He flung his right arm over his head and his left over his chest and made an “I'm dead” face.

“You're the dead guy!” I exclaimed, then slapped a hand over my mouth. I glanced over at the brick pit, but no one seemed to have heard me.

Chase laughed. “I don't think I've ever been called that before, but yeah, I'm the dead guy.”

“Where's your uniform? I thought you guys stayed in character all weekend.”

“My uncle is the big history buff. I just do these reenactor gigs for him.” He grinned, showing off a dimple in his left cheek. “Not really my thing. Wearing that itchy wool uniform and playing dead for forty-five minutes in the smoldering heat while people step on you doesn't hold much appeal.”

I eyed him. “Your uncle, the police chief.”

Chase folded his arms. “He told you, did he?”

“Is there any reason he shouldn't have?”

“Nope.” He rocked back and forth. “Not one single reason.”

I looked way and concentrated on Chase's coworkers, who rolled Maxwell into the body bag.

“I've been meaning to ask you—” Chase began, but the other officer who arrived on the scene with Officer Sonders approached us. He introduced himself as Officer Sullivan.

“I'm ready to interview you now.”

Thirty minutes later, after repeating my story four more times, Officer Sullivan released me to go back to the other side of the Farm. Tiffin and I headed in that direction. To my surprise, Chase followed us.

“I'm all done too,” he said. “Can I walk you back to your cottage?”

“My cottage?” I asked, alarmed. “How do you know where I live?”

“Don't be freaked out that I know you live in a cottage on the Farm. All the reenactors know that. You told us in the opening meeting yesterday before the visitors arrived.”

Despite trying to fight it, I shivered. “Yes, I suppose I did.” I told myself I was overreacting. “That's not necessary. I'd rather be alone. I need time to think.”

“No problem.” He flashed his dimple again before walking ahead of me back to the Union camp. Why did he fight for the Union if his uncle was the general of the Confederate Army? I walked at a much slower pace, and Tiffin didn't seem to mind. It gave him more time to survey the area. The herding dog was always on constant surveillance of his farm.

As we crossed the street, I wondered how I would tell the reenactors to stay on their side of the Maple Grove Lane. When I approached the reenactor camps, though, I realized that I needn't worry. Chase stood on top of a picnic table and announced to the crowd the village was temporarily closed because of an accident.

“What kind of accident?” one woman in a blue cotton dress shouted.

Chase made eye contact with me as he answered. “Unfortunately, I can't answer that.” He hopped off the picnic table and jogged toward me. “I hope I didn't overstep my bounds. I figured the sooner we told the reenactors not to walk over to the village, the better. Chief Duffy will station an officer on the path just in case anyone tries to cross the street.”

“It's good to see you have everything under control,” I said in a clipped tone.

Chase winced.

I shook off my irritation. “I'm sorry. It's been a long morning, and it's not even opening time yet. I really do appreciate your help.”

“Anytime.” There came the dimple again.

I unlocked the employees-only door on the side of the visitor center and let myself inside. Judy was already at the ticket window. She waved me away. “Don't you worry about a thing. I'll handle the tickets. Laura told me everything. Why don't you go in your office and rest a little?” she said in her grandmotherly voice.

Too tired to argue, I did as I was told.

Inside my cramped office—which consisted of full-to-bursting book shelves, a large desk, and one armchair—I turned on my eight-year-old desktop computer, a hand-me-down from the Cherry Foundation. It slowly came to life. I logged into my email account and saw I had a message from my ex-husband. The subject line said “Big News.” I didn't like the sound of that, not the tiniest bit.

Against my better judgment, I opened the email and noticed right away that it wasn't addressed to me individually, which was a relief. My relief quickly turned to anger.

Hi all! Great news. I'm engaged! I'm getting married to my lovely bride-to-be, Krissie Pumpernickle.

He went on to tell the readers how wonderful Krissie was.

I clenched the mouse until I heard the crack of its plastic case giving under the pressure. I released the mouse. I needed it to keep working; I didn't have the money in the Farm's accounts to buy a new one.

Married? How could he be getting married? I knew that Eddie had been dating other women since our divorce, but I had no idea any of those dates were serious. And who was Krissie Pumpernickle? This was the first I had heard of her and her ridiculous name.

I stared at the computer, trying to
process what I'd just read. Why should I be surprised Eddie would tell me
such earth-shaking news in an email? It was his modus operandi to avoid conflict, one of the many contributing factors in the demise of our marriage. Instead of addressing our problems like I wanted to, he ran away from them.

My thoughts flew to my son. Reading that my ex-husband was getting married in a mass email was painful enough for me. Like it or not, Eddie was Hayden's father. Eddie's marriage to this Krissie person would impact my son's life. It set my teeth on edge that I knew nothing about her. What if she didn't like Hayden? What if she didn't like children at all?

I switched off the computer. I couldn't face any more bad news just then. I stood and walked out of my office. In the great room, I found Judy speaking with Chief Duffy and a woman I didn't know, who was wearing jeans and a blazer over a white Oxford shirt. Underneath her blazer, I saw just the edge of a revolver in a shoulder harness and silver badge clipped to her belt. Despite her attempt to look masculine with her clothing choices, she was all woman and had a curvy figure that I instantly suspected she wished there was a better way to mask. Her auburn hair was pulled severely back from her face in a tight knot at the top of her head. It made my scalp hurt just looking at it, but if the female officer found it painful, she didn't show it.

I smiled at her and Chief Duffy, but my smiled faltered when Judy shot me a worried look.

“Kelsey, just the person we've been looking for.” Chief Duffy pointed to the woman. “This is Detective Brandon.”

I nodded to her, but the hair on my arms stood up. Why would the chief need to call in a detective if Maxwell died from bee stings?

I looked from the chief to the detective and felt my stomach tighten. “You were looking for me?”

“Yes.” The chief gave me a half smile. “We'd like ask you a few more questions in private about Maxwell Cherry's murder.”

I gasped. “Murder? I thought it was an accident.”

Chief Duffy grimaced. “It doesn't look that way.”

My mind flashed back to Chase leaning over Maxwell's body in the brick pit. Could he have been lying to me? Maybe he hadn't been trying to help Maxwell after all.

“You and Mr. Cherry had an argument not long before he died,” the detective said. Her voice was low and husky, as though she did burlesque shows as a side job.

Judy's pale green eyes grew to the size of cake pans.

“Yes, we had a disagreement,” I said and straightened my shoulders. A supermodel cum police detective wasn't going to intimidate me. “How would you know that?”

The detective lips curved into a smile. “We have a witness who said he noticed the two of you arguing yesterday afternoon about the future of the Farm.”

“Who is your
witness
?”

She shook her head.

The chief's tone was casual as he asked, “What was your disagreement about?”

“Am I being questioned in an official capacity?”

He nodded. “Yes.”

“Do I need a lawyer?” I asked as a shiver traveled up my spine.

The chief looked apologetic, and he tucked his thumbs in his belt loops. “It wouldn't hurt.”