“Are you sure you want to do that?” Judy asked.
I frowned. “No, but I have to. I’ll have to check the artifact database, but I know for sure that Jebidiah Barton’s gold watch was in there.” I paused. “And his revolver.”
Remembering the missing revolver spurred me into action. I removed my cell phone from my pocket and called the New Hartford police station. Unfortunately, it was a number that I now knew by heart.
After I ended the call, I asked Judy to take Hayden to the gift shop while I dealt with the police.
“I want to see the cops catch the robber,” my son protested.
“They aren’t going to catch him here,” I said. “The robber is long gone.”
Hayden sighed. “I miss all the good stuff.”
If I had anything to say about it, he always would.
“Come along, Hayden,” Judy said, wrapping her arm around my son’s thin shoulders. “We got a new shipment of penny candy to sell in the gift shop. If you help me fill up the candy jars, I’ll give you a piece or two.”
Hayden jumped up and down. “Really?”
“Sure thing,” she replied.
Hayden pumped his fist and ran for the door.
I mouthed “thank you” to Judy as she turned to leave. In this case, I thought bribing my child with candy was one hundred percent acceptable.
I followed them upstairs at a much slower pace and radioed Benji. “Benji, meet me in the lobby of the visitor center. I have a situation. Over.”
“Already there. Over,” she said. “And I think I have an even bigger situation. Over.” She ended radio contact.
Great.
six
When I entered the lobby, I blinked three times and pinched myself for good measure to make sure what I was seeing was true. Benji stood a few feet away from Abraham Lincoln. Truth be told, it was not unusual to see a deceased president wandering about Barton Farm. The unusual part about it was that this president was plastered and could barely stand upright. He leaned on the wall, and it looked like he was starting to drool.
I turned to my assistant. I didn’t even need to say a word.
She shrugged. “You know how I said that I found another Lincoln reenactor to step in for Darren?” She gestured at the man leaning against the wall. “That’s him.”
“You’re joking, right?”
She grimaced.
“Four score and seven years ago … ” Lincoln hiccupped.
I covered my face with my hands. I didn’t know if it was better to laugh or cry. I felt my shoulders move up and down. Apparently, my gut reaction was laughter. It was a good coping mechanism.
Benji cocked her head, not looking the least bit amused by my sudden mirth. I couldn’t help it.
“Are you done?” she asked, sounding annoyed. “I mean, I’m giving you a Lincoln, and he did show up for his appointment today as promised, even if he’s a little tipsy.”
I considered “tipsy” a euphemism in this case.
She glanced at Honest Abe. “He might not be perfect, but he’ll work in a pinch.”
I chuckled and placed a hand to my stomach. “I—I—” I said breathlessly. “I don’t think so.”
Benji rolled her eyes. “Obviously, I’ve told him he can’t have the gig because he showed up sloshed. I know we can’t have a drunk Great Emancipator.”
I shook my head. “Okay, okay, I know it was hard to find someone. I really appreciate that you tried.”
“I was born in a log cabin,” Lincoln muttered to himself. That set me off again.
The glass front doors to the visitor center, which faced the parking lot, slid open, and that sobered me up. I turned, expecting to see the police. Instead, Krissie floated in, her pink patent-leather purse, which I suspected cost twice my monthly salary, hanging from her delicate arm.
“I thought she left,” Benji hissed.
“She did,” I hissed back.
I needed to tell Benji about the police coming, especially since they’d be asking her about the contents of the trunk, but before I could get the words out, Krissie crowed, “Kelsey, I’m just making a quick stop before my dress fitting to tell you about the situation with the florist.”
“There is a situation with the florist,” Benji whispered under her breath.
I elbowed her in the side, hoping it would be enough to shut her up. I wanted to usher Krissie in and out. I didn’t want her to be around when the police arrived. It would be another thing she could hold against me in the Hayden custody battle. Much like her must-haves for the wedding, Krissie had decided that she wanted a “traditional family”—and, with that in mind, she’d inserted my son into it. Unfortunately for her, I wasn’t giving him up without a fight. Krissie didn’t even know what she was asking for. Raising a child was a full-time job, and Krissie was too selfish to take care of a goldfish.
“The florist?” I asked.
“Yes. I asked for two hundred roses.” She shuddered. “And he’s giving me one hundred roses and one hundred carnations. Carnations? Can you believe that?”
Benji again looked as if she wanted to say something again, but I made a motion to step on her foot. She closed her mouth and sidled away.
“Did he say why?” I asked.
Krissie waved her hand. “He said something about a beetle infesting the rose farm’s garden. Like that’s my problem.”
I winced.
She widened her eyes. “You have to talk to him.”
“Me? Why not Vianna?” I asked.
“You know him. You can make him fix this.”
My brow wrinkled. I did know the florist, Armin Coates, but I didn’t know how Krissie got it in her head that I could fix this. People didn’t mess with Armin. I certainly didn’t.
She adjusted the strap of her purse on her arm. “I told Armin he’d be hearing from you.”
Great. “Krissie, I can’t—”
Krissie clapped her hands. “I can’t believe it! You came through.” She held her hands to her chest. “Abraham Lincoln!”
Lincoln pulled on his beard and squinted at her. “Do I know you, ma’am?”
Krissie stopped just short of jumping up and down. “OMG! OMG! Kelsey!”
Benji clamped a hand over her mouth to hold back the laughter that I knew was there.
“Krissie, he isn’t for the—”
She hopped in place. “He’s for the wedding.” She turned to me. “You really did it!”
“Yes.” Lincoln pushed off from the wall. “I am at your service.”
Benji grimaced. I suspected that my face appeared much the same. “Krissie, this Lincoln,” I said.
“Four score and seven years ago… ” The reenactor again launched into the Gettysburg Address, reciting it word for word. It was moderately impressive considering his condition.
“He’s perfect.” Krissie beamed and adjusted her purse on her arm. “If you can find Abraham Lincoln, you’ll have no trouble talking to Armin.”
Through the glass doors, I saw a police cruiser pull up in front of the visitor center.
“All right, Krissie. I’ll talk to Armin. Now don’t you have a dress fitting to get to?” I asked, walking her toward the door.
She peered at the slim gold watch on her wrist. “I do. I knew I could count on you, Kelsey.” She shook her head. “I should have put you in charge of this entire wedding instead of hiring Vianna.” She lowered her voice as we reached the doors. “She’s been such as a disappointment.”
I wanted to ask her what she meant by that, but Officer Sonders, a young cop from the New Hartford Police Department, was getting out of his cruiser. It was time for Krissie to go. I ushered her to her convertible, and if she saw the police officer, she made no mention of it. She climbed into her sports car and peeled out of the parking lot.
Officer Sond
ers watched her go with a scowl. I was certain I had the same expression on my own face.
An hour later, Sonders closed the notebook in which he’d been itemizing the missing artifacts. He, Benji, and I stood in front of the visitor center next to his cruiser. I was much relieved that he was the one who’d come to investigate the trunk situation rather than Detective Brandon, the lone detective on the New Hartford police force. I’d have thought Brandon would jump on the case in the hope of making my life a little more difficult. Brandon and I had issues, to put it mildly.
Benji stood beside me, fiddling with her radio. The movement was distracting, but I stopped myself from taking it from her hands.
“Can you describe the gun that’s missing, again?” Sonders flipped through the spreadsheet that listed all the artifacts in the trunk. “That might be the easiest piece to track down.”
I pulled my smartphone out of my pocket and did a quick Google search, coming up with hundreds of antique flintlock pistols just like Jebidiah Barton’s. I showed Sonders the images and enlarged the one that most resembled what I remembered Jebidiah Barton’s looking like.
“Does the pistol work?” he asked.
I shrugged. “I never tried it, if that’s what you’re asking. From what I remember, it appeared to be well cared for. It was wrapped in a cheese cloth. It was on the very top of the trunk’s contents, along with Jebidiah Barton’s watch, which is why I think I remember it so vividly.”
Sonders eyed me. “And you just left it there in the trunk?”
“The trunk was locked,” I said a tad defensively. “It was heavy, difficult to move, and a good place to store valuables. It’s where the Bartons kept their things a hundred years ago. It was secure.”
“Not as secure as you thought.” He folded the spreadsheet by quarters and put it inside the breast pocket of his uniform. “Was the gun registered?”
“It was a museum artifact, so, no.”
He frowned. “I’ll file a report and start to see if anything comes up online or if the local antique shops have been approached with anything that might fit what you’ve described. Maybe we’ll get a hit on the watch, since it’s engraved with Barton’s initials … that will make it a little more unique.” He walked to the driver’s side door of the cruiser and opened it. “Let me know if you think of anything else, or if anything else goes missing.”
I promised him I would.
Benji looked as if she might be sick. I felt much that same. Officer Sonders’ tone was judgmental, blaming me and the Farm for the theft of the artifacts. The problem was, he might just be right. I was at fault. If Benji’s expression was any indication, she felt much the same. Even worse, I still had to admit what happened to the Cherry Foundation, especially since it would come up in our small town’s police blotter. I might not be able to recover what was lost, but I vowed to never let it happen again. There would be new protocols and procedures in place. Things around the Farm were about to change.
But first, I reminded myself, I had to survive Krissie and Eddie’s wedding. After the wedding, I would be better equipped to deal with the repercussions of my carelessness and the fallout from Henry Ratcliffe at the Foundation.
The police officer got into his cruiser and drove away.
Benji sighed. “I can’t believe this. This is all my fault.”
I looked at her. “Why?”
“Because the contents of that trunk were my responsibility. I should have taken better care of them.”
I shook my head. “Stop right there. This is more my fault than yours. I should have made a decision about where to display the artifacts months ago.”
Benji hooked the radio back onto her belt. “It’s not your fault, Kel. Trust me on that.” She turned and walked back inside the visitor center.
I had that sinking feeling that the missing revolver would come back to haunt us both.
seven
Bedtime is always a struggle when you’re six, a fact that my son reminded me of on a daily basis.
“Why can’t I stay up and watch a show?” Hayden asked in a sleepy voice that night. We were finally alone in my little cottage on the Farm grounds, tucked away behind the sugar maple grove on the western edge of the Farm. His eyes were half closed, but he was determined to stay up as late as possible because he was six. That was explanation enough.
“Buddy, we agreed that you would go to sleep after one show. You need your rest so you can have even more fun tomorrow.” I tucked his sheet in around him.
He sighed deeply and his eyes fluttered open. He was trying so hard to stay awake. I had to look away to hide my smile. His heart-shaped face was so angelic when he was tired. But I knew better than to say that aloud. Superheroes didn’t wish to look like angels, or so I’d been told.
Frankie, Hayden’s grumpy, one-eyed tabby cat, watched me from the foot of my son’s bed. Frankie and I had an unspoken agreement: I fed him and kept his litter box nice and tidy, and he didn’t claw my face off in the middle of the night.
Hayden yawned. “I don’t need as much rest as I did when I was in kindergarten. I’m a first grader now,” he said proudly. Ever since the school year ended, he’d been playing the first grader card hard. “First graders shouldn’t have to go to bed so early.”
“Early?” I asked. “It’s after nine. You should have been asleep ten minutes ago.”
He sighed. “Nine is an early bedtime for summer, I think. My friend Tim doesn’t have a bedtime in the summer, and he’s a first grader too.”
“Buddy, but even first graders need sleep. Moms need sleep too.” I felt a yawn of my own coming on.
He shook his head and his white-blond bangs fell across his smooth forehead. “Not you. You’re Super Mom. Super Mom doesn’t sleep.”
I bit my lip to hold back a whimper. I didn’t feel like Super Mom on most days. I was just doing the best I could, juggling my responsibilities on the Farm and raising Hayden. More often than not he spent the majority of his summer days either with my father or with one of the members of the Farm staff. Not with me. I told myself I did this because I had to, which was true—not working wasn’t an option. But I also had to do it because I wanted Hayden to be proud of me, to say that his mom had taught him what it was like to work hard for something she loved. I didn’t care what his passion would turn out to be someday. It didn’t have to be history. But when he found it, I wanted him to give it his all, like I’d given my all to Barton Farm.
Hayden’s eyes closed a final time. He could no longer fight the exhaustion as much as he wanted to. First graders did need their sleep. I brushed his bangs out of his eyes and kissed his forehead before standing up from his bed.
As I turned off the light, Frankie settled his chin on his paws and closed his one good eye.
I walked down to the main room of my cottage. When I’d first taken the position as museum director, Cynthia Cherry had paid to have the old caretaker’s cottage transformed into a home for Hayden and me. The main floor consisted of one large room that encompassed the living room, kitchen, and a small dining area. Behind the kitchen there was a full bathroom and a large pantry. We’d converted the pantry into a tiny bedroom, and this was where my father slept when he was with us. There wasn’t much space in there for more than a single bed. Dad piled his clothes and things on the old pantry shelves.
My father stayed with us during the summer months when he wasn’t teaching. The rest of the year, he lived in campus housing at the local college, where he’d been a drama professor for over thirty years. Despite the close quarters of the pantry-bedroom, Dad never complained. I knew he loved the time he spent with Hayden and me during the summers.
At the moment, his bedroom was empty. My father not only taught drama, but he was also a stage actor. For the first time since I’d graduated college, he’d joined a touring Shakespearean theater group that performed all over the state, so we were
n’t seeing him as much as we usually did during the summer. I was happy for him, but it made the child care situation a little more difficult for me, which was something I didn’t need now that Eddie was threatening to go back to court to increase his custody of Hayden. Currently, I had primary custody, and Eddie got Hayden three weekends a month plus alternating holidays. But he wanted shared custody, or at least that’s what Krissie kept telling me. Eddie was far less direct.
Happily, my father had a break in the tour starting tomorrow, so he would be home for a few days, through Eddie’s wedding. That was when I’d really need him.
I went to the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of wine. I wasn’t much of a drinker, but the wedding had me on edge and I needed to find a way to unwind so that I could get some sleep.
If Chase Wyatt had been there, he would have made me laugh with some ridiculous story about his day, and that would have relaxed me immediately. I had a sneaking suspicion his funniest stories were embellished for maximum effect, but I didn’t mind. I smiled as I thought of him. He was so different from Eddie. Maybe that was his greatest appeal. Chase couldn’t be there that night to make me laugh, though, since he was on call as an EMT.
I’d always considered myself self-sufficient, maybe even more so since I divorced, but I found myself missing Chase at times like this. That worried me. I took pride in my independence. Laura would say I took a little too much pride in it.
I was about to take the first sip from my wineglass when someone pounded on the cottage door. “Kelsey! Kelsey! Are you home?”
I set the glass down and ran to the door. I threw it open. “Jason, what are you doing? You’re going to wake up Hayden.” I said this in a harsh whisper.
My farmhand’s thin face flushed red. “I—I’m sorry, Kelsey. Something is wrong.” The thin-as-a-beanpole twenty-year-old boy shook from head to toe.
The Final Vow Page 4
