Thirty-seven

The note from Ashland asked me to meet her inside Barton House, which was only a few yards from the tent. I wondered what had gone so terribly wrong that we couldn’t speak about it in front of the guests. Surely nothing as awful as a murder.

A couple sat on the house’s front porch eating their dinner. I smiled at them and was surprised to find the padlock on the house. I had figured Ashland would be waiting inside. I unlocked the door and stepped inside. With no electricity, the home was cold and dark. The front door opened into the living room, and I was happy to see that the trunk was still over the root cellar’s hatch. It was dusk now, and the only light in the room was ambient light from setting sun, which just made the shadows grow long and monstrous. I decided to leave the door open. I could hear the muffled sounds of laughter and music from the dance.

“Ashland?” I called.

There was no answer. I frowned and walked through the home. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary or disturbed. I peered through the kitchen window over the sink and saw Ashland in the back yard. She had her arms wrapped around her body, and she was crying.

I went out of the house through the back door. “Ashland, what’s wrong?”

She looked up. “You came.”

The trees in the woods cast dark shadows over the lawn. Even in the dimness, I could see tears glistening on her cheeks. “Of course, I came. What’s this emergency you have? Does it have something to do with the reenactment or the ball?”

“No,” she cried harder. “Yes.”

That wasn’t confusing or anything.

Something about her tragic expression, like a lost puppy, connected the scattered thoughts in my head. She’d had that same look on her face when Maxwell, Portia, and Cynthia were at the reenactment—like someone had just kicked her. I had thought at the time that it was just her moody nature, but I’d been wrong. All this time I had a gut feeling that the killer was connected to the Farm and not the reenactment. All this time I had been right. Click, click, click. The clues lined up in my head like grooves in a zipper. Who else would know everything about the Farm like I did? Ashland. Who else spent their time emulating me? Ashland. Who tried to set me up for murder? Ashland.

“Ashland, why did you kill Maxwell?” I whispered.

“He threw me aside for that dumb girl because she’s better arm candy than I am at events like this one.” She glared at me. “She even told me while we worked on those dance cards that she didn’t love him. She was in love with that worthless reenactor.”

“You loved Maxwell?” I wrinkled my nose. I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t understand how anyone could fall in love with such a jerk.

“He wasn’t always so harsh,” she said.

“How did you even know each other?”

“When you would send me to Cynthia’s estate to make reports and deliveries, we struck up a friendship. And then it became more. I know he loved me and not her.” She balled her fists on either side of her hoop skirt. “I tried to make him see, but he just wouldn’t.”

I always asked Ashland to go to Cynthia’s estate because I’d hated running into Maxwell every time I went. When she went, she’d be gone for several hours, but I had assumed that she spent her time drinking tea with the Farm’s benefactress, not flirting with the foundation’s heir.

My fingers turned ice cold as I realized I hadn’t seen Portia at the ball with Cynthia. “Ashland, where’s Portia?”

“It doesn’t matter. She doesn’t matter.”

“It matters a lot,” I corrected. “You didn’t hurt her, did you?”

“She gave me no choice. She wouldn’t shut up about how much she hated Maxwell and loved Wesley. She couldn’t talk about the man I loved like that!”

“The man you killed,” I corrected.

She glared at me. “I didn’t want to. It broke my heart when I had to kill him, but when he met me here in the village that night, it was clear he wasn’t coming back to me. It was my last resort. I had no choice.” She started to cry again. “He was knocked out when I rolled him into the pit. He never felt the stings.”

“And Wesley?”

“I just showed him a way to escape his misery.”

“You gave him the lily of the valley.”

She glared at me. “He made the choice to eat it. I didn’t shove it down his throat.”

“What are you going to do now?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” she whispered. “It’s gotten so complicated. I thought I’d feel better if I knew Maxwell couldn’t be with anyone else, but it’s not working.”

“You can run,” I said. “Just tell me where Portia is and you can run away and start over.”

She stared at me as she considered this. “Will you help me get away?”

“Tell me where Portia is, and I’ll help you,” I lied.

“That agreement doesn’t work for me.” Detective Brandon appeared around the side of the Barton House with her gun drawn. I guess she had hidden it in her massive ball gown. “You’re under arrest.”

Ashland stared at her.

“Ashland,” I said. “Tell me where Portia is. The police will go easier on you if you tell us where we can find Portia.”

“Don’t make promises we can’t keep,” Brandon barked.

I glared at her.

“It doesn’t matter now,” Ashland said and turned and ran. She was crying and ran blindly, failing her arms and legs.

“Stop!” Detective Brandon ordered. “Or I will shoot!”

“You can’t shoot her in the back!” I yelled.

Jason popped out of the woods and made a move to catch Ashland. She screamed and made a sharp turn, running directly into the first beehive and knocking it to the ground. She fell on top of it and the bees buzzed and swarmed. Jason melted back into the safety of the woods.

I didn’t wait to see how Ashland fared with the bees. It seemed a fitting punishment given what she’d done to Maxwell. I ran into Barton House and headed straight for the living room. I yanked the steamer trunk off of the root cellar’s door. “Portia,” I cried as I lifted the latch.

There was no answer. Could I be wrong? Did Ashland stash her someplace else? Was she already dead? Swallowing my fear about the giant rats, I bunched up my lovely skirt and climbed into the hole. It was a tight fight with the hoop skirt. “Portia?” I heard crying from the back corner of the root cellar. “Portia, it’s Kelsey. I’m here to get you out.”

She came at me at a fast crawl, wailing. “She threw me in here. I thought she was going to kill me. She killed Maxwell.”

I wrapped my arms around her. “I know. Shh. You’re safe now.” Her entire body shook as I scanned the dark for mutant rats. “Let’s get out of here.”

Hands appeared in the root cellar’s door, and then a face appeared. Chase’s face appeared, a bit wild eyed and smirking. “How many times am I going to have to yank you of here?”

I handed a whimpering Portia to him. He pulled her out of the hole, and then I climbed out without his help. “Is there no limit to your chivalry?” I asked as I cleared the hole.

Chase set me on my feet. “When it comes to you?” He shook his head. “Nope.”