The Final Reveille: A Living History Museum Mystery (20 page)

Much to my horror, I whimpered, “yes.” I shuffled to my bed and sat down. Ahh, that was better. A little rest and I would be able to finish out the reenactment tomorrow. I didn't know if I would be able to find out who killed Maxwell. Suddenly, I felt dizzy again. This entire situation was unreal.

“I'll go get you a glass of water.” Dad left the room.

Chase picked up the Spider-Man stuffed toy that sat in the middle of my bed. “Cute.”

“It's my son's.” Tears rushed to my eyes. I looked away.

“Hey, he's safe.” He brushed my hair out of my face.

“I know.” I wasn't going to tell Chase my fears that Hayden was safer with his father. I never thought I would think that, but being knocked over the head and thrown into a root cellar gave me a new perspective on my job.

“Sit back,” Chase said.

“What?”

“Sit back, so I can take off your shoes.”

“I can take off my own shoes,” I said stubbornly. I leaned over, and the world tilted on its axis.

Chase knelt. “Sure you can. Sit back.” Chase removed my shoes.

I made a motion like I was going to stop him, but he was right, I was a mess. But I would be better with a little sleep.

“Sit back,” he ordered.

“You shouldn't have to do this.”

He looked up at me from a kneeling position. “Can't you let someone else take care of you for once?”

“I'm not very good at that,” I admitted. I blinked. “I'm a mom.”

“Moms need to be taken care of too.”

“I guess,” I said groggily.

“Do you want to change into pajamas?”

“No!” I yelped, covering my chest. No matter how bad of a killer headache I had, I wasn't going to let Chase help me change my clothes.

The corners of his mouth quirked up. “I wasn't going to help you with that.”

I blushed and hated myself for this. “No, this is fine. I'll just sleep in my clothes. This dress is very comfortable.”
I'll throw the whole mess into the wash tomorrow.

He swung my legs onto the bed and settled me back against the pillows. “All right. Get some sleep.”

As soon as I was prone on my comfortable bed, my eyelids drooped closed. Sleep. That was all I needed, and then I could face whatever tomorrow brought. It couldn't be worse than today, which included a slain reenactor and a near-death experience. No, tomorrow would be a breeze. I smiled to myself. “Good. Sleep is good.” My eyelids fluttered opened for a moment. There was something important I thought I had to say. “I'm still mad at you, you know.”

He looked down at me. “Oh?”

“I'm still mad at you for not sharing the information that you had about the bees. That wasn't very nice, Chase. What if I had done that to you?”

He smiled. “I wouldn't like it.”

“Right.” My eyes closed.

I may have imagined it, but it felt like someone kissed my forehead before I drifted off to sleep.

Thirty-one

The bugler played the
reveille in the morning, and I could understand why someone may be tempted to murder another human being. If the bugler had in my bedroom at that very moment, he wouldn't have stood a chance.

Tiffin went to the window and barked in the direction of the encampments.

“Tiff,” I muttered into my pillow. “That does not help.”

Frankie then jumped onto my pillow and started to meow about his breakfast. He knew I was awake since I had spoken to Tiffin.

I felt disgusting from sleeping in my dirty dress, the same clothes that I had worn when I crawled around the Barton Farm root cellar. My comforter would need to be washed. My tongue felt too big for my mouth, and my teeth were fuzzy. I didn't dare look into a mirror until I showered and brushed my teeth, and even then my reflection might cause a horror movie–worthy scream.

The problem with the cottage was that the bathroom with the shower was on the first floor. There was only a tiny half bath on the second level, where Hayden's and my bedrooms were. Cynthia had it added before we moved into the cottage. She would have paid the expense for a full bath or at least a shower, but there wasn't enough room without giving up one of the two bedrooms, and that would never work. Dad slept in the small bedroom off the kitchen during summers. In actuality, I suspected that it was meant to be a pantry and not a bedroom.

Shower. That's what I needed: a shower. Toothbrush. I'd keep my thoughts to a singular mission until I was coherent enough to move it up to complete sentences.

Then I remembered Chase having been in my room, removing my shoes, kissing me on the forehead goodnight … or not. The last part may have been a dream.

I couldn't stand wearing the dress a second longer, so I removed it and pulled on my robe. As I walked down the stairs I was happy the world was no long spinning when I turned my head. Excellent progress. On the first floor, I placed a tentative hand to the back of skull. The bump was still there, but it felt smaller. Then again, I might just be telling myself that to feel better. It might have no longer seemed like the world was turning, but I had a splitting headache. On the way to the bathroom, I would stop in the kitchen for aspirin. I kept all the medicine on the highest shelf in there because it was the one place Hayden couldn't get into.

Dad was sitting at the kitchen counter drinking a cup of tea, but he wasn't the person I was staring at. Chase lay sprawled on my couch on his stomach. He had his face buried in my throw pillows.

“What is
he
doing here?” I hissed.

“Chase?” Dad raised a bushy eyebrow.

“Is there another man sleeping in my house?” I downed four aspirin with a swig of water from the tap.

“I let the guy crash here. He's been sleeping on the ground for the last three nights.” Dad finished his cup of tea. “And he did save your life, so I think we owe him a good night's rest.”

“Why didn't you tell me?” I asked.

Dad's brow furrowed. “You were dead to the world.”

“Well, wake him up and tell him to go back to his tent.”

Dad hopped off the barstool. “Why don't you wake him up? He'd like that.” Dad folded the morning newspaper under his arm and head out the front door to read it in his lawn chair.

Why don't I wake him up?

Chase's T-shirt was pushed halfway up his back. I tried not to stare at his bare skin and failed. I picked up the other throw pillow, which had fallen on the floor.

I tickled his nose with the fringe.

He waved it away. “Reload your muskets, men,” he murmured into the pillow.

Was he reliving a reenactment in his sleep? I dropped the pillow and bumped his leg with my knee. “Chase, wake up.”

“I'm not going to make it. Leave me, boys,” he said dreamily.

I inched toward his head. “Chase. Chase, wake up. You are having a bad dream.”

“It's an angel come to collect me from the battlefield,” he murmured with a hint of smile on his face.

Faker.

I punched him in the side.

“Ow!” He sat up and rubbed the spot where I hit him.

“Oh, I didn't hit you that hard.”

He opened one eye. “I like the robe.”

I stepped back and wrapped my arms around my chest. “Don't you have a war to fight?” I stomped to bathroom.

“The war doesn't start until I get there,” he called after me.

That I believed.

By the time I got out of the shower, Chase was gone. I told myself I was relieved not disappointed.

Dressed and feeling more human, I braided my hair. Before going back downstairs and despite the early hour, I had to make a phone call. I called the New Hartford police department and asked to speak with Detective Brandon. I told the operator it was about Maxwell Cherry's murder, and I was patched right through to the detective's cell phone.

“Brandon,” the detective barked.

“Detective Brandon, this is Kelsey Cambridge.”

“What do you want, Ms. Cambridge?”

Apparently the police detective didn't have time for pleasantries. “Is it true that Chase Wyatt has an alibi for the night of Maxwell's murder?” I decided to ask the detective and not Chase's police chief uncle about his alibi because I suspected that she wouldn't lie to cover for him.

There was a paused, and then she said, “Yes. We have six eyewitnesses who put him at the firehouse at the time of the murder.”

“He's not the killer,” I whispered.

“No. Disappointing, isn't it?” she said. “I told you he was trouble. I suggest that you run as far away from him as possible.”

I was still mulling over my conversation with the detective when I went downstairs again. Dad was back in the kitchen. “I made you breakfast,” he said. “Monster pancakes.” He presented me with a plate of pancakes. He had drawn a monster's face on the top pancake out of fruit and chocolate syrup.

“Dad, you make these for Hayden. I'm not a child.”

“You're still my child. I can make these for you if I want to. It's a father's right.”

I smiled. “Thanks.” I picked up one of the pancakes and ate it dry. Before I knew it, the plate was empty. I had been hungry.

“I knew you would be hungry. Did you eat dinner last night?” Dad asked.

I thought about it. “I don't remember.” It was difficult to remember to feed myself when Hayden wasn't around. I sighed. I wouldn't see my son that day at all. Even before Eddie announced his engagement to Krissie, he and I had agreed that Hayden would stay with Eddie on Sunday because I would be busy with the last day of the reenactment all day, and the Blue and Gray Ball all night. I sipped from the glass of milk that my father had paired with the monster pancakes. The ball. I hoped everything would go off without a hitch. I had planned to go over all the details last night after the play, but under the circumstances, that hadn't happened.

“I need to check on the plans for the ball.” I took a gulp of milk.

“Take it easy, Kelbel. You had quite a scare last night.”

“I'll be fine. I might not be up to going into dark confined spaces for a while, but other than that, I'm great.” I shivered and wondered if I would be able to go into the Barton House root cellar ever again.

He pursed his lips.

“How bad do I look?” My voice sounded hoarse.

“Like you got kicked by one of the oxen.” He grinned.

I laughed but stopped abruptly because it made my head hurt.

“I'm worried about you. I don't want you taking these kinds of chances anymore.”

I searched in my cupboard for the largest mug that I could find. When I didn't find one that would work, I selected a deep soup bowl and filled it with coffee. After a sip of the scorching liquid, I was refreshed enough to return to the conversation. “Dad, I have to save the Farm.” I grimaced. I sounded like one of Hayden's action hero cartoons. “And,” I added, “I need to find out who killed Maxwell for Cynthia. She's done so much for Hayden and me. This is how I can repay her.”

“You're stubborn. I know.” He shook his head. “You're as bad as your mother.”

“I'm glad.”

“I love that about you.” His eyes turned downward. “I loved that about her too. But you can't put yourself in harm's way. Think about Hayden.”

“I always think about Hayden.”

Dad pursed his lips.

“I won't take any more stupid risks.” I set the soup bowl on the counter and hugged him. “I promise.”

“I've enjoyed the reenactment, but all things considered, I'm glad this is the last day of it.”

“Me too,” I admitted. I walked to the front door and removed Tiffin's leash from the peg on the wall. “I'm going to check on the grounds.”

Dad sighed. “Be careful.”

“I will,” I promised.

Tiffin ran ahead of me on the pebbled path, and then he ran back and ahead again. The poor dog had been cooped up in the house way too long. I headed straight for the visitor center. Chase, wearing his Union medic uniform, sat on the bench outside the visitor center, holding two steaming blue tin cups of coffee. I stopped in front of him. “What are you doing here?”

He grinned. “Waiting for you.”

“Why?” I asked as Tiffin ran circles around us and the bench.

“Primarily, to keep a close eye on you, and secondly, to expose you to some decent coffee unlike that sludge that you subjected me to last night.” He wrinkled his nose.

“Are you insulting my coffee?” I asked.

“You bet I am.” He handed me the mug.

I accepted it. I never turned down a good cup of coffee. “This is good,” I admitted.

“The best Colombia has to offer. I order it direct.”

I arched an eyebrow. “Would a Union medic during the Civil War have access to great Colombian coffee?”

He winked. “We'll just keep it our little secret.”

“Another secret.”

“Sure. You made me promise I wouldn't tell my uncle about you getting knocked over the head last night, didn't you?”

I sipped from the cup. “Oh, right.” I paused. “I spoke with Detective Brandon this morning. You will be happy to know that she confirmed your alibi for me.”

“Ah, I'm guessing she hated doing it.” He sipped from his mug. “Did she say anything else?”

“She told me to run away from you,” I said.

He furrowed his brow. “And will you follow her advice?”

“I haven't decided yet.” I held up the cup. “Thanks for the coffee.” I continued down the pebbled path toward the village.

A second later, I realized Chase was following me.

I turned. “What are you doing?”

“I'm coming with you.”

“You don't need to. The sun is up. No one is going to come out of the woods and knock me on the head in the light of day.” I quickened my pace.

He walked ahead of me and started to walk backward so that he could face me. This was getting to be a habit. His forage cap was low over his eyes and his cartridge bag thumped against his hips with each step. “I wouldn't count on that. No one is in the village at this time of day. Besides, Tiffin wants me to come.”

Tiffin barked in agreement.

I frowned. “Did the two of you talk about this last night when I was sleeping?”

“Yep,” Chase said.

Tiffin danced in place.

“Fine,” I mumbled and kept walking.

Tiffin and Chase fell in beside me.

“Where are you going exactly?” Chase asked when we reached the road.

“Back to the scene of the crime.”

Chase and Tiffin followed me to the brickyard. “Where did you find the broken lantern?” I asked.

Chase scanned the ground. “It was right about here, but it looks like it's been cleaned up.”

“Jason?” I asked.

Chase frowned. “Maybe.” He squatted on the path.

I squatted next to him and ran my index finger along the pebbles, looking for any evidence of the lantern. A glass shard plunged into my fingertip. “Ahh!” I cried waving my hand.

Chase caught my wrist. “Hold still.”

I relaxed. He removed the tiny shard from my index finger. It was hard to believe something that tiny could hurt so much.

“When was the last time you had a tetanus shot?”

I winced. “Last year.”

“That's good news or I would threaten to take you to the hospital again.” He opened his ammunition bag and removed an antiseptic towelette, antibiotic cream, and a Band-Aid. “I suspected that I would need these today, especially if I was hanging out with you.” He opened the towelette. “The cut is not deep, but we still need to patch you up.” He quickly cleaned and bandaged my finger.

Standing up, I noticed a spot of blood on my Farm polo shirt.

He stood and put his first-aid supplies away. “That's going to stain.”

“I have a five-year-old, I can get any stain out. Let's look at Barton House.” I turned so that he wouldn't see my face. I told myself the tingling in my hand was the loss of blood not from his touch.

I started toward Barton House and unlocked the padlock with my key. In the living room, the ladder-back chair was still in the middle of the room where I had sat on it and the hatch was open. “Good thing we came back,” I said. “We forgot to shut the hatch to the root cellar.”

Tiffin lay on the threshold of the open door. He knew that he wasn't allowed inside any of the historic buildings.

“We should take a look down there to make sure there aren't any clues to who may have hit you.”

“Good idea.” I went to the supply closet in the next room, the Bartons' dining room. It was where we kept supplies for the whole village, so I knew there would be an industrial-sized flashlight there. The flashlight was exactly where I expected it to be, hanging from a nail just inside the door.