nineteen

Cynthia had said that Portia’s room was in the east wing. How would I find the right door in a house so large? And I knew if Miles found me wandering the mansion, he would have me thrown out.

Footsteps clicked on the tile in the front hallway. Portia herself appeared, then pulled up short when she saw me. Her eyes were bloodshot, her nose red, and she didn’t have any makeup on. In grief, she was somehow more beautiful. Maybe I misjudged her. As hard as it was for me to believe, maybe this beautiful young woman really had loved Maxwell.

“Wh-what are you doing here?” she asked.

I raised my eyebrows at her reaction. “I was checking in on Cynthia.”

Her face cleared. “Yes, of course you would. That was kind of you.”

“I’m so sorry about Maxwell.”

She gasped and covered her mouth. “Thank you. That’s very kind of you.”

“Cynthia said that you live here.”

She blushed. “Maxwell and I live in separate wings. When the lease was up on my apartment earlier this year, Maxwell thought it was prudent for me to move into the mansion before the wedding. There is plenty of space. I could go a whole day without seeing him. He was a very busy man.” She covered her mouth with her hand. “But now I don’t know how much longer I’ll be staying here. Poor Maxwell. How can I think of myself at a time like this? Who could have done such a horrid act?”

“Wesley?” I asked

She dropped her hand. “He would never.”

“He seemed pretty upset yesterday about Maxwell.” I folded my arms.

“He wouldn’t.” She shook her head back and forth like a toddler. “Did you tell the police about that?”

“I had to.”

“Wesley wouldn’t hurt anyone.”

“He was there as part of the reenactment.”

“I—I have to go.”

“Wait,” I said. “Did you see Jamie Houck at the reenactment yesterday?”

She turned. “Jamie?” Her eyes grew wide. “Yes. He’s the one you should be talking to the police about.” She combed her long black ponytail with her fingers. “If anyone wanted to hurt Maxwell, it was him.”

I could tell Portia liked the idea of Jamie being the killer instead of Wesley. “Why’s that?” I asked.

“He and Maxwell had a terrible fight last week.” She tugged on her hair. “I was at Maxwell’s office waiting to go to lunch with him when Jamie stomped inside. He slammed Maxwell’s door, and I heard them screaming at each other. It was awful.”

“What where they screaming about?”

She dropped her ponytail. “It sounded like a real estate deal that went bad. Maxwell and Jamie were buying land for development.”

“What kind of development?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. Maxwell always told me not to worry about it when I asked. He told me that he would make sure I wouldn’t have to worry about anything ever again.” Tears fell from her eyes. “What am I going to do now without him?”

Again, I wondered how this young woman attached herself to Maxwell Cherry and became so dependent on him. I tucked a flyaway hair behind my ear. “I know I didn’t memorize the entire of roster of reenactors who are at Barton Farm this weekend, but I can’t recall ever seeing the name Jamie Houck.”

“Maxwell told me that he uses another name when he’s reenacting because he doesn’t want any of the reenactors to ask him for money.”

“What’s the name he uses?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

Behind me, someone cleared his throat. I turned to find Miles glowering down at me. “Ms. Cambridge, did you lose your way when leaving the house?”

I smiled brightly. “Nope. I was sharing my condolences with Portia.”

“Very good,” he said. “But as this has been a difficult day for the entire household, I must ask you to leave.”

“Sure thing.” I looked back to say good-bye to Portia, but she was already gone.

As I drove back to the Farm, I drummed my fingers on my steering wheel. How was I going to find out which reenactor was Jamie Houck in disguise? At least I knew to start with the Confederates since Cynthia saw him the day before in a gray uniform. I wished that I had gotten the chance to speak to her again after talking to Portia. Cynthia might have known his nom de plume when reenacting. But I couldn’t disturb her again. I would assign the task of discovery Jamie’s identity to Ashland. She would enjoy it.

By the time I turned into the Farm’s parking lot, there was a long line of cars leaving through the main exit. The Farm closed at five o’clock, and it was only a few minutes till. I parked my car beside the supply shed and sighed. At least I wouldn’t have to worry about the visitors on the grounds again until ten o’clock the next morning. As long as the reenactors didn’t start brawling again, I could concentrate all my efforts on trying to find out who killed Maxwell.

The first order of business was to find Ashland to see what she had learned about the other nonprofits and Jason, and to give her the new research assignment.

I entered the visitor center from the side entrance and found Judy at the ticket counter, counting the money from the cash drawer. When I approached, she held up a finger and kept counting. After she finished the stack of fives, she looked up. “We did very well today, Kelsey, even with selling the tickets at a discount. I’ve never seen ticket sales like this before. It’s hard to believe that Saturday and Sunday promise to be even bigger days.”

I smiled. “At least that’s something that has gone right this weekend. Is Laura here?”

“She just radioed from the village. She is doing the rounds to make sure all the buildings are locked up tight.”

“That’s great. It gives me one less thing to do.”

Judy sniffed. “I’m happy that Laura is pitching in like that, but it is my opinion that Ashland should be the one checking the buildings. She is the assistant director. She’s been cooped up in your office all afternoon playing on the computer. It’s no wonder the girl is as pale as a sheet.”

“Don’t worry about Ashland,” I said. “She’s doing some research for me.”

Judy frowned but said nothing more.

I went to my office to find Ashland, but despite Judy’s complaint that Ashland had spent the entire afternoon in my office, my assistant wasn’t there. I picked up the radio that I had left on my desk before going to Cynthia’s and radioed her.

“Kelsey, I’m glad you’re back,” her voice crackled through the radio.

“Meet me near the Union camp,” I said.

I passed a few straggling visitors heading to the exit as I went out the sliding glass doors into the Farm. Ashland was already waiting for me at the Union camp.

As the reenactment was officially over for the day, some of the reenactors had removed their flak jackets and cartridge boxes. They leaned their rifles against the trees and hung their coats from them. They sat on camp stools in their white undershirts and suspenders. Dirt marred their shirts and faces, but they were smiling. It had been a good day for history.

Ashland smiled. “This really is amazing, Kelsey. Having the reenactment on the Farm was a stroke of genius.”

I tried not to beam at her praise and failed. “Thanks.”

“How was your errand?”

“Informative,” I said “I went to see Cynthia.”

Ashland shivered. “Cynthia? Why?”

I frowned. “I wanted to tell her I was sorry about Maxwell.” I told Ashland what I had learned.

Her brow wrinkled. “Jamie Houck. There is no one by that name on the reenactor roster. I memorized it.”

Of course she did.

In front of us, reenactors removed their powder bags and rifles from their shoulders and dropped them in front of their tents.

I shielded my eyes and scanned the men for Chase. “He’s reenacting under a fake name.”

“How very strange,” she murmured.

“I want you to find out which reenactor he is.” I dropped my hand.

“I can do that. I’ll take a copy of the reenactor roster home and work on it from there.”

“Are you coming back for the bonfire? Everyone on the Farm’s staff is invited. It should start around eight.”

A strange look crossed over her face. “I don’t think so. It’s been a long day. I think I just want to go home.”

I was about to ask her if she was all right when my father walked up to us in his costume for Hamlet’s father’s ghost, which consisted of tights, a black robe, and metal breastplate. The drawn on eye circles and smattering of fake cobwebs in his hair and across the front of the breastplate gave him the perfect “I’m dead” look. Dad held out his left arm and recited, “Murder most foul, as in the best it is; But this most foul, strange, and unnatural.”

“I have to go. I’ll grab that roster.” Ashland fled.

Dad put a hand to his chest. “Does she not appreciate Shakespeare?”

I gave him a look. “Considering this morning’s discovery, you walking around spouting off about foul murders is a tad insensitive.”

“Bah,” my father said and adjusted a piece of cobweb on his breastplate. “It shows that Shakespeare is timeless and that foul murder is a universal problem still today, even in our happy little museum bubble.”

I couldn’t argue with him on that point. “I’m guessing tonight is dress rehearsal.”

“Yes, and you still plan to be there tomorrow night for the opening performance?”

I smiled. “Don’t worry, I’ll be there. Laura is coming with me.”

“Very good.” He sighed. “I do wish you would relent and let Hayden to come along too. I want our boy to see my big performance.”

“He’s a little young for Shakespeare. Let’s wait until he’s at least through kindergarten.”

“I suppose that’s all right.” He whipped his cloak over his shoulder. “I’m off to the theater!” With that, he strutted away, chest and chin out.

Walt Whitman walked by me carrying a dish of rice and beans. “Perhaps that reenactor is off by a few centuries?”

I didn’t bother to respond.