by Julie Hyzy
I was no psychologist, but from what I’d gathered, the older Embers brother, Keith; their dad, Gordon; and Jack had all tried to step in and “fix” Davey. A stranger just might offer enough distance to coax Davey out of his shell. “What harm is there in letting him participate? These re-enactors are moving out on Sunday anyway. Davey hardly has time to lose interest this go-round.”
“Maybe.”
“Have you talked with the police lately?”
“Why?”
“Just curious. They seem to be hanging around here a lot. I thought you might have some idea about that,” I said.
“They’ve been hanging around here?”
“A bit.”
“Talking about me?”
“Just a little.”
“Why do you think they’d be looking for me?” Jack asked. “Did they say something about Davey? Something you’re not telling me?”
“Not much more than they’ve said before,” I hedged, “about Davey, that is.”
The lines bracketing Jack’s mouth deepened as he frowned. “Let’s change the subject. I left you pretty abruptly the other night and I want to make it up to you. I was wondering if you’d like to go out again tonight. I thought we’d drive out to Westville for a change of pace.”
Westville. Where the purported cat owners lived.
I hesitated.
“If you don’t want to go, that’s okay. Just say so.”
“No, no. It’s not that . . .” I didn’t want to think about giving Bootsie up. I didn’t want to think that the man seated across from me might soon be arrested for murder. I was failing miserably at my plan to keep my confidence yet somehow alert Jack to his predicament. Conflicting arguments battled within me. Brain versus heart with a little bit of gut thrown in. If I was so convinced of Jack’s innocence—convinced enough to date the man, for crying out loud—then why wasn’t I warning him about the cops’ plans?
“You’re very important to Davey,” I said.
“Where did that come from?”
“You keep telling me that Davey was different when he was younger.”
Jack looked about ready to jump out of his seat. “Yeah?” he said sharply.
This wasn’t going well. “But I don’t think the reason he has problems now is because he doesn’t look up to you. Just the opposite, in fact.”
“What are you saying? That because he thinks I killed Lyle, he wanted to be just like his older brother and so he went out and killed Zachary?”
“No!”
“I can’t believe you think that about my brother.”
“I don’t. That’s not what I’m saying at all.”
Jack stood, threw up his hands, and started for the door. “Forget tonight. I’m not in the mood.”
“Jack,” I called to his back, “you’re misunderstanding me. I don’t think Davey killed anyone.”
He held up a hand to let me know he’d heard. At the door he turned. “I’m sorry, Grace. I know you’re trying to help. I know you don’t believe Davey is guilty. But you’re making judgments about people you don’t know or understand. Until all this is resolved, I think we need our space.”
And with that, he was gone.
I put my head back and closed my eyes. There had to be some way to fix this. I just wished I knew how.
WHEN I RETURNED HOME THAT EVENING, I found a manila envelope wedged under my back door with my name scrawled across in black marker. Though lightweight, it didn’t bend easily, as though a piece of cardboard was wedged inside. Whoever placed it here apparently knew I generally came in the back way. No indication who had left it; I worried for a moment that it was one of my neighbors sending an anonymous note warning me to step up the house repairs, or else. I’d received a couple of those in the past, one with a handful of dead grubs the sender claimed had been harvested from my front lawn. Nice folks, these neighbors. I did my best to keep up, but fifteen new projects always seemed to pop up to take the place of the single one I completed.
If Bennett took control of this house, all that would change. That would make my neighbors happy for sure. I stared at the envelope in my hands. For all I knew, it would explode the moment I opened it. Annoyed now, and grumbling, I threw caution to the wind—why not? the day was ruined as it was—and ripped it open.
Four photos spilled out. Along with a note. “Here’s your proof,” Tooney wrote, “I’ll be by Saturday to pick Mittens up.”
I sat down on the concrete stoop to check out the pictures he’d enclosed. There was no denying this kitten’s resemblance to Bootsie. In the first shot, two kids sat on a hardwood floor, dangling a fuzzy toy in front of little Mittens, who was in the process of jumping to reach it. In the next two pictures, the kids took turns holding the kitten. Her face was blurred and turned away from the camera, but her markings looked frighteningly familiar.
It was the final shot however, crisp, clear, and of the cat all by herself sitting on a window ledge staring out, that dropped my heart to the floor. Although I couldn’t see her left side, and the picture was cut off just above the tip of the kitten’s paws, it sure looked like the cat I’d come to love.
I turned back to the pictures of the kids. Both of them looked clean-cut and cheerful. The cat as happy as a cat can look. At least Bootsie would have a good home.
I heaved a sigh and went inside.
Chapter 22
TERRENCE CARR RAISED ME ON MY WALKIE-TALKIE early Friday morning. “Don’t leave your office. I’ll be there in five.”
“Sure,” I said, but when I tried to ask, “What’s up?” he cut me off.
“I’ll be right there,” he repeated. “Don’t go away.”
Frances hadn’t arrived yet, but I expected her at any moment. I wondered what sort of Civil War getup she’d be wearing today. As though in answer to my unspoken question, she trundled in less than thirty seconds later. When I got up to meet her in her office, I noticed she was dressed in lilac pants and a coordinating paisley top. Very twenty-first-century.
“You’re not going back today?” I asked.
“If you order me down there, I don’t have much choice,” she said. “Is that what you want?”
“Mr. Hennessey getting to you?”
“I imagine there’s a backlog of work mounting here. I didn’t want it all to be waiting for me Monday morning.”
“Lois has been helping.”
She sniffed. “It isn’t like I’m learning anything new anyway. When I left last night everything was normal. Too normal, if you ask me. These people don’t even seem to remember that one of their friends was murdered.”
Terrence opened the door, putting an end to the conversation. “Good morning,” he said to both of us in a grave voice. Lips tight, he flicked his gaze from one of us to the other. “I may as well tell both of you.”
We waited. Whatever it was, it wasn’t good.
“They arrested Jack Embers last night,” he said.
He held up his hands to quiet our exclamations. “I got a courtesy call this morning from Rodriguez,” he said. “Gordon, Jack’s father, went down there immediately to try to arrange for bail. With any luck, Jack should be released fairly soon.”
“He couldn’t have done it,” I said. “He couldn’t have.”
“One of the re-enactors claims he saw him the night of the murder. Says he could tell Jack didn’t belong but thought he was just a new recruit. Didn’t think twice about it until he found out Jack was one of the suspects. Reported it to the cops immediately.”
I couldn’t help myself. “Do you believe he’s guilty?”
“Doesn’t matter what I think, or what anybody thinks. What matters is what the evidence tells us.”
I said, “I’m going down to that camp and find out for myself. What’s the name of the person who reported Jack?”
Terrence didn’t know.
Frances said, “I’m going with you.”
“You will?” I asked. “Why?”
“You won’t know what
you’re doing.”
“But you keep telling me Jack is trouble. Why would you want to help me?”
“What I believe is my own business. Now, do you want my help or not?”
BECAUSE WE WERE INFILTRATING THE CAMP during its non-public hours, Frances was in charge of visiting the sutlers’ tent to buy me whatever supplies I needed to fit in. Before we left the manor I visited the ladies’ room to rinse off my mascara, then waited in the office while Frances got changed. I tried calling Jack on his cell phone and I even tried him at his house. No luck. I left a message on both phones, asking him to call me. Just as I hung up after the second call, Frances emerged wearing her Civil War work dress. “Ready?” she asked.
“Let’s do this.”
She and I drove down to the south grounds, parking among the vehicles left there, some of which had accumulated a faint coating of dust.
“Shoe size?” she asked. I told her. Tucking a credit card into her pocket, she gave me an appraising glance. “I can figure out the rest. Wait here. I won’t be long.”
“They take credit cards?”
“These sutlers may not sell you anything farby, but when it comes to accepting payment, rules about authenticity go out the window.”
Whatever she picked up I hoped it would be cool. The sun beat down from a cloudless sky and even though it was still only mid-morning, I could already feel the stuffy weight of hot air settling around us thick as a blanket. I didn’t know what I planned to do here, nor what I thought I might discover, but there just seemed no other course for me to follow.
I’d have to remember Lois’s willingness to take charge of the office so often this week. She was truly performing above and beyond her job description. I made a note to keep that in mind come bonus time.
Even though the windows were open and a slight breeze blew in, my car baked in the heat and I felt like a turkey waiting to be pulled from the oven. All I needed was to be trussed. I certainly hoped corsets weren’t involved.
True to her word, Frances was back in record time. I watched her clear the rise in determined strides, mounds of fabric draped over one arm, a bag clutched in the other. I got out of the car to meet her, noticing one dress of pale blue and another patterned fabric that appeared to be a formal gown. “I got you two dresses,” she said, confirming my assessment. “One day dress similar to mine, only yours is a lot smaller. The other we’ll keep on hand just in case. There’s a big shindig—a ball—planned for tomorrow evening. I know we probably won’t be there, but the sutlers were running low on merchandise and I didn’t want us to come up short.”
The day dress was a pin-striped blue cotton, long sleeved, with a button-front bodice and a petite white collar. Frances had picked up an unbleached muslin apron to wear over it. “Thanks, I’ll put this on,” I said, scooching over the center console into the passenger seat and casting a wary look around.
“Nobody’s near,” Frances said. “I’ll stand guard.”
Changing into a floor-length dress is not usually difficult, but trying to do so in the front seat of a car made for some interesting contortions on my part. After much wiggling, grunting, and sweating, I finally pulled the skirt into place. “This bodice is tight!”
“That’s the way they’re made. Does it fit?”
I sucked in my gut. “Yes.” I had a feeling she was waiting for me to say something more. “Good guess on the size, Frances.”
She grunted.
I got out and gave the formal gown a quick perusal. The deep-green-and-cream-colored dress featured a lace bodice and peplum waistline over a wide, gathered skirt. “It’s absolutely lovely,” I said as I stored it in my backseat.
“We can get you a hoop later,” she said as she handed me a petticoat to slip under the work skirt. “I couldn’t carry everything at once. But a lot of women don’t bother with them anyway.”
“I’ll be fine.”
Eyeing me critically, she said, “Part your hair down the center.”
I complied.
“Turn around,” she said.
“Why?”
She made a little circle with her finger and I did as I was told. She pulled my hair back, keeping my ears covered, and clipped my hair into a loose bun. Whipping a snood out from one of her cavernous pockets, she finished the job by covering my new ’do.
“Well?” I asked when I turned back.
There was surprise on her face. “I don’t believe anyone will recognize you.”
“Let’s hope you’re right.”
When we reached the camp, no one gave us a second glance. “What do we do now?” I asked in a low voice.
“Stop whispering, for one,” she said. Keeping her eyes forward, she nodded a greeting to two women walking past even as she continued talking to me. “Act like you’ve done this your whole life.”
“Easy for you to say. This top is so tight I can barely breathe.”
“You’re lucky I didn’t get you a corset. And that nobody will be checking what you’re wearing underneath. Ten dollars to a doughnut every single woman you see here has a chemise and stockings, with garters to hold them up.”
“Ugh.”
“Most important, keep a lookout for Hennessey.” She huffed. “That man.”
WE VISITED JEFF, THE CHEATED-UPON HUSband who happened to be semi-sober at the moment. He was sitting on a log outside his tent when we stopped by. Frances greeted him as she might an old friend. “And how are you today?”
Skinny and gray-skinned with bad teeth, Jeff looked to be about fifty. He stared up at us with bloodshot eyes. He wore a dingy white undershirt and stained pants. Gripping a tin mug of coffee, he shrugged. “Been better.” Indicating the tent behind him, he said, “Wife’s giving me grief. Again.”
As though summoned, a woman emerged from the tent. Presumably the wife, Mary Ellen. “Nice to see you again,” Frances said.
Mary Ellen was far younger-looking than her husband. Mid-forties, she was voluptuously proportioned, the seams of her cornflower blue day dress near to bursting. Freckled, with blonde hair pulled back into a snood, she greeted us with a thin smile. “Don’t give him anything he asks for,” she said apropos of nothing. She nodded hello to me, obviously puzzled as to my identity, but too polite to ask. Frances didn’t bother with introductions.
“Beautiful day,” Frances said.
Mary Ellen shrugged. “If you say so.”
Jeff glared at her. “Is that any way to treat our guests?”
“Pierpont is going to be happy,” Frances said, staving off what looked like the beginning of a war between the states—excess and temperance, that is. “I’ve decided to become a regular.”
Mary Ellen murmured an appropriate response but the look behind her eyes asked, “What do I care?” She forced a smile and strove mightily for hospitality. “May I offer you a refreshment?”
Frances answered for both of us. “No, thank you,” she said, “we’re on our way to see Pierpont right now to tell him I’ve even brought a new recruit.”
“I’d hold off a bit if I was you,” Jeff said. “Him and Florian were having a little battle of their own earlier and I just saw Florian heading to Pierpont’s tent for another go.”
My interest perked up.
“Oh? What now?” Frances asked coolly, but I caught the glint in her eyes.
“Who knows? Who cares?”
Frances waved dismissively. “Men,” she said, laughing like a girl, “always arguing.” Without wasting even the smallest of movements, she nodded to both Jeff and Mary Ellen. “We’ll leave you two alone now. Good day.”
We set off, me at a brisk pace. “Slow down,” Frances said. “You don’t want to call attention to yourself.”
“But I want to know what’s going on.”
Frances shook her head, causing her neck to waddle. “In good time,” she said.
It turned out Pierpont’s tent, more impressive than most of the others, was only about fifty steps away. As we drew closer to it, we heard the u
nmistakable cadence of an argument in process. The voices were hushed, but the spite and anger came through quite clearly.
“If I would have known you were a traitor, I would never have stepped down,” Pierpont said, his voice zinging with tension.
Florian’s more modulated answer, “I’m not a traitor, Rob. You know that.”
Their next words were lost to us.
Frances spoke close to my ear. “We need to get close enough to understand, without raising suspicion.”
I was ahead of her. I peeked inside the tent next to Pierpont’s. Uninhabited at the moment, it provided the perfect listening post. Whoever owned this one didn’t have a problem with farby; there was a double-sized blow-up mattress on a raised platform, a folding table piled high with prepackaged foods and liquor, and next to it a small generator, along with an electric fan, lamp, and blender. Familiar logos dominated the space. But the most important consideration was that no one was there. I ducked inside and whispered for Frances to join me.
She did, but not without a glare of disapproval. “What do you think you’re doing?” she asked. We could stand up straight if we stood in the center of the tent but we both kept ourselves hunched over. Maybe we thought that by making ourselves smaller we’d be harder to spot if the tent’s owner suddenly showed? Yeah, right.
“Shh . . .”
Pierpont: “The only decent thing you can do now is to withdraw from the election.”
Florian: “I’m unopposed, Rob. Did you forget?”
Pierpont: “You can’t take over. Not anymore. I’ll just keep the position awhile longer. There’s precedent set for this situation. Remember when Sutherland died and they asked me to stay on for a couple more years?”
“That was a long time ago. Things have changed, Rob. People don’t like all your rules.”
Pierpont’s voice was thin with tension. “My rules are not new and I’m not going to let you ruin this for all of us. Remember, I can ruin you.” Pierpont’s voice dropped. Frances and I leaned closer and cupped our ears in order to hear what he said next. “I know you want this position, Jim. I know how much it means to you and what it would have meant to your father. But if you don’t back out of the election, today, I won’t hesitate to use what I know.”
