fifteen

Between Judy at the ticket counter and Ashland in the field, I didn’t have anything to worry about where the reenactment and Farm staff were concerned. The reduced ticket rate appeared to appease visitors that the village was closed, and Ashland reassigned the village staff who’d elected to come into work throughout the Farm.

I considered joining Hayden, Dad, and Krissie in their tour through the encampments, but something nagged me. Wesley Mayes, the spurned ex-boyfriend of Maxwell’s fiancée, was accused of stealing something from another reenactor two times in as many days.

I went in search of the Union reenactor.

The Union camp was on a half-acre of land and had only been on the Farm for two days, but as I walked through it, it seemed like the reenactors had been there for weeks, just like they would be in the middle of a siege. The high-ranking officers had tables and chairs set outside their tents with maps spread out that described the terrain. The privates sat on the ground on fallen logs they dragged to the camp from the maple grove, or on their folded jackets. They swatted at flies that buzzed through their camps as they chewed on raw coffee beans. Others sipped coffee from tin cups. The liquid was so black, it was a wonder it didn’t burn holes in their stomachs.

I went up to one of privates. “Good morning.”

He picked a piece of coffee ground out of his teeth. “How do you do, ma’am? How can I help you?”

“Fine. I’m looking for Wesley Mayes’s tent.”

“Ol’ Wesley.” He pointed behind him. “Over there yonder.”

I glanced at the dirty white tent he pointed out. Many of the reenactors purposely dirtied the exterior of their tents in order to make it more realistic to the time. In 1863, a private could go a very long time between baths. The smell must have been suffocating. Some of the reenactors followed suit and didn’t bathe during the reenactments. I hoped I didn’t have any reenactors like that on the Farm property. I didn’t want to scare any visitors away with the smell.

Thanking the private, I headed to Wesley’s tent. A lady reenactor and two children, also in nineteenth-century dress, stood outside the tent beside Wesley’s. The children were making cornhusk dolls. I smiled at them.

“Wesley?” I called. There was no answer, so I peeked inside. Wesley lay on the mat on the ground he used for his bed, and Krissie Pumpernickle sat cross-legged on the grassy floor beside him. They weren’t touching, but it was clear the two were deep in a private moment.

I gasped and walked backward. When I reemerged from the tent, I found the woman and children from the neighboring tent staring at me.

Krissie popped out of the tent. “Kelsey, this is not what it looks like.”

I folded my arms. “What does it look like?”

She smoothed back her bangs as Wesley walked out of the tent. She didn’t answer.

“What are you doing in his tent?” I asked my voice was sharper than I’d intended.

“Oh!” Krissie blushed. “I was just saying hi to Wesley. We used to go to school together.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Where’s Hayden?”

Krissie’s blush deepened. “He’s with your dad. I wouldn’t leave him alone.” My face must have shown my disbelief because she said, “Really, I wouldn’t. And I hope, Kelsey, that you aren’t getting the wrong idea.”

“Why would I get a wrong idea?”

“Eddie doesn’t need—”

I held up my hand. “I have no desire to say anything to Eddie. Whatever relationship the two of you have is none of my business.” I paused. “Unless it affects Hayden, then you had better believe I will make it my business.”

Her red face began to fade. “Thank you, Kelsey. You don’t know how much that means to me. We would never do anything that would hurt Hayden.”

“I hope that’s true.” Before she could protest, I pointed to each of them. “You two went to school together.”

Krissie nodded. “That’s right. College. I haven’t seen Wesley in years. He and Portia are a couple of years older than me and already graduated. It certainly was a shock to see him dressed up like a Civil War hero.”

Great, she wasn’t even out of college yet.

“I ran into her and invited her into my tent to talk,” Wesley said. “That was all. We couldn’t reminisce about school in front of the other visitors; I can’t drop character in front of them. The tent was the only place we could speak freely.”

I wasn’t sure I was buying their story, but it would have to do for now. I had other pressing business to talk to Wesley about. “I’d like a moment with Wesley,” I said.

“All right,” Krissie murmured, but she didn’t move.

“I want to talk to Wesley alone, Krissie.”

“Oh! Right, I’m sorry.” Her face flushed again. She gave Wesley a side hug. “It was nice to see you again, Wes. We’ll have to pick a time to catch up a bit more.”

He smiled. “We will. And thank you.” He turned to me. “We can talk in my tent.”

I ducked back into the tent. “You seem to entertain a lot of ladies in here.”

He sat on a camp stool. “Not really. You and Krissie are the only ones who have been inside here. What do you need to talk to me about? Is something wrong?”

Was something wrong? What a ridiculous question when a dead body was discovered on the other side of Maple Grove Lane. I held back any sarcasm.

“The police said that they told you about Maxwell’s death.”

“I heard about it. I don’t know what it has to do with me.”

“He was about to marry your ex-girlfriend.”

He shrugged. “So what. I’m over that.”

“You didn’t seem over it yesterday in the village.”

He stiffened. “I had been blindsided. I knew nothing about the engagement then.”

This was sounding a little too similar to my own situation for comfort. “What did you do after you saw Maxwell and Portia together?”

“I came back to my tent and got drunk. It made me feel better.”

I frowned. “There isn’t supposed to be any alcohol on Farm grounds. I could kick you off of the property for drinking.”

He laughed as if I were joking. I wasn’t but didn’t see it worth the time to go over the Farm rules. Besides, if I kicked Wesley out of the reenactment I would never learn if he killed Maxwell or what his real connection to Krissie was.

“What happened after you got drunk?”

“I went to sleep. I sort of remember some of the guys helping me into my tent, but it’s fuzzy. I was wasted. I didn’t wake up until the bugler set off around five. I could have killed that guy. I had an awful hangover and a splitting headache. Have you ever heard a bugler go off when you had a headache?”

Actually, I had, that very morning.

He shook his head. “It was terrible.”

“So you slept all night? You didn’t get up at all?”

“You mean, ‘You didn’t get up in the middle of the night and kill Max’?”

“Well, yeah.”

He scowled. “No. I think you can go now.”

“In a minute.” I folded my arms. “You’ve only been here two days, but there are already two instances of Confederate reenactors accusing you of stealing their possessions. Why’s that?”

“Because they’re Rebs.”

I cocked an eyebrow. “Really? That’s the best answer you have?”

He scowled. “For some reason, the last couple of days, I’ve found Confederate gear in my tent. Before I can find out who it belongs to and return it to the owner, the Rebel comes stomping into my tent because he heard I took a canteen, rifle, whatever it was.” He blew on his bangs, which drooped into his eyes. “The Rebs always want to challenge me to a duel. We’re in the middle of the Civil War here, not the American Revolution.”

“You don’t know how those items get into your tent?”

He glared at me. “I just told you that.”

“You didn’t take them by accident?”

“How would I take something from the Confederate camp by accident? I’m telling you, I’m not taking this stuff. Someone is putting it in my tent.”

“Why would someone do that?”

“I don’t know. To play a practical joke, to get back at me.”

“Get back at you for what?”

He removed his forage hat and threw it on his mat. “If I knew, I’d put a stop to it.”

“Could this be related to Maxwell’s death?”

“I don’t see how.” He frowned as if genuinely frustrated. “I can’t say that I’m not happy that Maxwell’s dead, but I had nothing to do with his death. Do you believe me?” he asked.

“I don’t know what to believe, but I will give you the benefit of the doubt. For now.”

“I guess that’s all I can hope for.”

“It’s more than you can hope for,” I corrected.