Claudia.
The feisty woman was barely recognizable. I reflexively turned Miri around, although I was sure she was too young to comprehend. The event was in shambles. It was a melee as redcoats, and soldiers in brown homespun, were pushed back by Truman and Faith. June wailed, but Pia and Tabitha were surprisingly stoic as they worked together to tend to their grandmother’s wounds. Bev was revived by her son, Preston; her renewed screams were only drowned out by the approaching wail of sirens. Two ambulances caused the apoplectic crowd to further scatter as the emergency vehicles made their ungainly way over grass, hill, and dale to reach the fallen reenactors. Emergency plans flashed before my eyes, which I’d hoped to never put into play. I felt a sickening stab of fear and regret as the EMS workers loaded Claudia onto a gurney, her dull brown homespun outfit slick with cherry-red blood. Truman and Faith’s careful examination of each person on the field had been all for naught. Someone had been hell-bent on recreating a massacre on this field, and had succeeded in spades.
CHAPTER FIVE
I paced the gleaming linoleum floor of the McGavitt-Pierce Memorial Hospital. I’d spent way too many hours in the structure, part of a large medical complex named after Keith and Helene’s family. The earlier success of Cordials and Cannonballs had evaporated in a haze of screams, blood, and mayhem. I wished I could have pulled down the unusual blanket of fog over the whole mess and carnage and done a redo of the day. Instead I spent the late afternoon waiting to hear news of my stepfather. The sun hovered like a giant orange orb from my western-facing view out the emergency room’s sliding glass doors. The haze that had allowed some miscreants to wreak havoc at the reenactment had finally burned off of the horizon. It was a gorgeous sunset, the clouds tinged a lurid magma-like magenta. But what should have been a glorious view was a reminder of the red blood spilled on the field of what was supposed to be a pretend skirmish.
Doug had been carted away in the second ambulance. His arm was bleeding profusely, but the EMTs had deemed his wounds non-fatal. I would have preferred to have had my loved one healthy and whole, but compared to some who were not as fortunate on the battlefield, I’d take it. The eerie fog had ended up being premonitory. And from what I could tell, it didn’t help the first responders who’d come screeching up to the field. I could tell from Truman’s agitation before I left that it was a muddle of a crime scene. No one really knew what had happened. It was almost as if the perpetrator was in cahoots with the weather. The thought sent trickles of fear dancing across my shoulder blades, aided by the overzealous hospital air-conditioning.
I knew Rachel longed to be here, too, but she had remained to triage what must have been a messy and chaotic early end to Cordials and Cannonballs. My one relief had been to receive a text from Garrett assuring me that he and Summer were safe and sound.
I jumped each time a nurse exited the sealed security doors to the inner part of the emergency room. Doug had been in the back for quite some time. And though I worried about him, I couldn’t help but glance up at the ceiling from my spot in the waiting room. I knew two floors up in surgery, there were two families whose concern and anguish were immeasurable. The first two ambulances to arrive to the reenactment-turned-real battlefield had triaged Jesse and Claudia first. It hadn’t looked good. Neither one had moved as they were loaded onto separate gurneys and carted away, though Jesse had let out a stifled and burbling groan. I sent a silent prayer for them skyward and closed my eyes, willing my memory to shut off the constant replay of the last five minutes before the event had been irrevocably ruined. I sank onto a green vinyl bench. The constant worry and constant pacing had finally overtaken the shock of adrenaline and cortisol coursing through my veins.
At least I had a friendly, furry companion to distract me. In the melee of first responders and wailing attendees, Bev had handed off Elvis. The dolorous pup seemed more sad than usual. The big guy definitely knew something was up. He opened one droopy eye and settled a paw on my lap before letting out a high-pitched yawn and going back to sleep. I petted the basset, his familiar loamy scent a comfort. I absentmindedly scratched behind his prodigious, floppy ears. He sighed in his sleep and seemed to settle a bit.
The ER staff had allowed my mom to take in Ramona the pug. Or more likely, my mom had spirited her inside her big bag, and they were choosing to ignore the little pup. But Elvis couldn’t be in the intensive care unit. I’d briefly peeked my head into the ICU waiting room after my mom texted that my stepfather was going to be okay. I caught a glimpse of Pia and June huddled together, ignoring the National Geographic channel blaring from the big-screen television mounted in the space, no doubt an attempt to distract the visitors waiting to hear word about their loved ones. I’d returned to the ER and gotten stuck in that strange time warp that was the peculiar purview of emergency rooms. A glance at my watch told me that three hours had gone by.
“Mallory.”
The tall form of Truman blocked my own mindless TV viewing.
“Truman—”
“Claudia didn’t make it.”
My heart accelerated and promptly sank into the depths of my stomach. The feisty, dedicated, and loving mom and grandma was gone from this earth. Tears coursed down my face, and I dimly felt Elvis nestle closer. Truman wordlessly handed me a box of tissues he swiped from the intake desk.
“Oh, my goodness. I can’t imagine what June and Pia and Tabitha are thinking.” I failed to mop up the waterworks that I knew were just beginning.
Truman swallowed hard, too. His voice was gruff and laden with emotion. He was used to delivering bad news, but this time seemed especially egregious. “They’re not taking it well, as you can imagine. June still has Miri with her, asleep in her baby carrier. She’s holding it together the best of the three so as not to scare the baby. But Tabitha and Pia lost it. As is understandable.”
Truman gave up his tough stance and crumpled in the chair next to me. I noticed a bloodstain marring his handkerchief peeking out from his pocket and involuntarily winced.
A bubble of accusation percolated up, unbidden, and flew out of my mouth before I could stop it.
“That wretched woman.”
“Who? Mallory?” Truman sat up, his attention definitely piqued.
“Helene Pierce!” I hurtled my suspicion with a screech loud enough to make the ER intake attendant jump. “Of course, it was her. The incident with the veil made that old bat unhinged. Her inability to stop women from taking to the battlefield pushed her over the edge.”
Truman digested my theory for a mere thirty seconds before volleying back a question. “How did Helene manage to wound Doug, Jesse, and murder Claudia all in the span of about a minute and a half?”
I waved my hand around in frustration, taking in the happy fact that Jesse was still alive if Truman had designated him so. “She had reason to take out each person she wounded. She and Claudia argued over whether women could take part in the reenactment, everyone knew that.” I held up one finger. “And Doug tried to intervene on Claudia’s behalf and put Helene in her place.”
“And Jesse? What beef did Helene have with him?”
I racked my brain as I stood again, carefully placing Elvis’s paws on the vinyl bench. “That one’s tougher. But Helene, of course, was furious about the veil. She couldn’t take out Bev as a bystander in the crowd, so she went after her fiancé.” I closed my eyes and stopped short. “Helene wears those silly little white gloves on occasion, but it’s honestly a rare look even for her. Who did she think she was, Jackie O? No! She wore gloves to conceal her prints on the weapon.”
This last idea got Truman’s attention. I could tell because he rubbed his chin and seemed to consider the idea, rather than immediately shoot it down.
“Maybe you’re on to something.”
I took the miniscule bone he tossed and ran with it. “For sure, Truman! Helene is the only person who would have wanted to hurt those three particular people.”
“But—” Truman’s next question was c
ut short.
Bev shot into the room like a frantic cannon. She grabbed my hands in hers. “Jesse’s alright! He’s going to be okay!”
Elvis bounded down from his seat and wagged his stumpy tail. Bev knelt to hug the sweet basset, and he licked a trail of happy and relieved tears from her cheek. My friend appeared predictably exhausted from the crazy range of emotions she’d just gone through. She let out a somewhat frazzled laugh.
“And I feel like I owe your crazy mother a debt of gratitude.”
This should be interesting.
Bev went on to explain. “I’m ever so glad she tasked him with building you and Garrett a cottage in the next month, even if it’ll put a strain on our wedding prep. Did you know he was mumbling about blueprints and permits after he came out of anesthesia?” The seamstress chuckled. “I would like to think our impending marriage is the most enticing will to live for my Jesse. But he’s vowing to complete your cottage in record time, even if it’s by his bedside.”
“I’m not sure that’s such a hot idea.” I’d been miffed at my mother, too, for whipping Jesse into a design and building frenzy when he should be finalizing wedding plans. But I was sure my house project should be tabled in lieu of Jesse focusing on his recovery. And I wondered about whether Jesse would be able to recuperate enough to get married in the next few weeks, much less design and build my cottage.
Bev seemed to follow my train of thought. “The surgeon thinks he will be okay to wed in two weeks.” Her eyes twinkled. “My Jesse, good as new, just less dancing at the reception. The shot only nicked his spleen and part of one kidney. Barring complications, he’ll be A-OK.”
Bev would be able to give her strange thanks to my mom in person. Carole and Doug minced out of the inner vestibule of the ER. My stepdad was cradling his arm, but appeared no worse for wear. Unless you counted his bloodied and shredded homespun shirt the doctors and nurses must have cut to pieces in order to attend to his arm.
“Mallory.” I shared a one-armed hug with Doug and promptly burst into tears anew. “It’s okay, sweetie. Everything’s going to be okay.”
Truman waited a few minutes for me to chat with my stepfather. But then he got down to the business at hand. “I’m sorry to interrupt, and I know it’s been a long day, Doug. But I do need to get some initial impressions from you while they’re still fresh.”
Doug nodded and sank into a vinyl chair. “I know I was jostled from behind—some redcoat taking things too damn seriously. But it seemed intentional, you know? Lots of us were tripping over each other and the rocks in the field because it was hard to see in the fog. But the shove that brought me down seemed to be on purpose.” Doug winced at the memory. “I’m glad my bayonet wasn’t real. Anyway, I dropped my musket when I fell, and I felt around for it, but several people stepped on my hands. I gave up, and almost immediately, people started screaming. I guess the real shooting began then.”
Truman posed a few more pointed questions to Doug before taking in his exhaustion and hesitance to answer. “We can continue this questioning tomorrow after you’ve had a chance to rest, Doug.” Truman’s eyes turned kind.
“And Jesse, how is he doing?” My mother’s query to Bev was friendly and neutral. But I don’t think that’s what Bev heard.
“Why are you so hot and bothered to know?” Bev’s eyes shot white-hot daggers in my mother’s direction.
“Hot and what?! Pfft. As if.” My mother stood like a pugilist in her little royal-blue mule loafers, appearing ready to spring into action.
“Mom, Bev. We’ve all had such a trying day.” I awkwardly inserted myself between the two women. Elvis and Ramona hadn’t picked up the tension and happily continued to sniff each other in doggie friendship. Too bad their mistresses never got the memo. In fact, Bev nimbly separated Elvis from his impromptu doggie playdate with Ramona, as if the little pug were his enemy by proxy.
Ouch.
“Let’s go, Doug.” Carole swept from the waiting room, Ramona dutifully if somewhat reluctantly trotting behind her. My mom stopped and hustled back to steady Doug, a blush staining her cheeks at her apparent prioritization of making a quick getaway over helping her wounded spouse.
I gave Bev a weak wave and followed my family out. At the last second, I glimpsed Truman. He stood in the corner, observing it all. Of course, he had to know the bad blood between my mother and Bev was just a silly misunderstanding, not anything to do with the carnage of today. The little squabble the chief had just witnessed must be small potatoes in light of Claudia’s death and the other unsolved mysteries of the day. But Truman had his game face on, and seemed to be exploring all of his options.
Uh-oh.
* * *
I awoke Sunday morning hoping the prior day had merely been a nightmare. But a quick perusal of the digital version of the Port Quincy Eagle Herald newspaper showed the ruined aftermath of Cordials and Cannonballs in lurid, blood-red detail. I swiped my phone’s screen closed and went about my duties straightening up at my B and B with wooden inattentiveness. I was happy to chat with my mother and Doug and get a good update on his continued progress.
And though my appetite seemed to be gone for good, I decided to keep a long-standing lunch date I’d scheduled with my best friend, Olivia. She was due to have her first child in two weeks, and I was planning her rather last-minute baby shower. I was grateful to have a chance to turn my thoughts to properly celebrating the new addition to Olivia’s family, rather than replaying the grisly events of yesterday in a loop in my head.
A few minutes before noon I dragged my sorry self across the threshold of the Greasy Spoon, a usually cheery and kitschy diner decorated with yards of black and gold vinyl and smooth, polished chrome. Today the place was alive with what was no doubt gossip about the ruined and deadly events of yesterday. The initial quieting of the buzzing chitchat when I entered the restaurant affirmed my suspicions, but soon the chatter picked up, with some diners glancing at me and lowering their voices.
“I’m so sorry about your event yesterday, love.” Olivia jumped up from her booth in the back corner and attempted to give me a hug. Her giant, late pregnancy belly prevented her from delivering one full-force. But that didn’t stop her from trying. She appeared chic and collected, even at nearly nine months. She wore a ruffled denim jacket over a black tank and leggings, the cream enamel earrings swinging against her shiny black hair a gift I’d given her several years ago.
“Thanks, Liv. I needed that.” I sank gratefully down in my side of the booth. When the server took my order, I barked out a request for chicken noodle soup and cornbread. The meal wasn’t very fitting for an unusually hot June, but if anyone needed to try to choke down some comfort food, it was me.
“Doug was lucky. He lost a lot of blood. But whatever ammunition nicked his arm was basically a surface wound. Beyond lots of stitches, he’ll be okay.” I gave my peremptory report to stave off further questions. Olivia seemed to catch my drift. Especially when I brought out my tablet and the manila file I’d assembled for her shower.
“Yes, let’s get this done.” Olivia turned her efficient and analytical attorney’s mind to the task of winnowing down choices for the shower. She’d begun her second litigation career in January, teaming up with Garrett, and had fully transitioned into her work as a plaintiff’s attorney in small-town Port Quincy. “I think we’re the last couple on earth who isn’t interested in finding out the sex of the baby.” She gave her belly a little pat. “Too bad all of the gender-neutral stuff is gray. Not that I don’t like gray, but I’d welcome a pop of color. Your yellow and orange shower will be a welcome break from all those neutrals.”
I nodded and swiped through the Pinterest board I’d created for Olivia’s approval. The shower would be citrus themed, with little giraffe and elephant accents in orange and yellow. Planning the event should have been a joy, but was understandably muted from the events of the day prior.
“Garrett has been wonderful, too,” Olivia gushed about my fiancé.
“If I’d stayed at the big firm, my maternity leave would have been nearly nonexistent. Here, I’ll be able to ease back in at a family-friendly pace. Maybe raising Summer as a single dad gave Garrett an unusual and much appreciated understanding of the need for real parental leave.” Olivia cocked her head and considered me for a moment. She seemed to hesitate, but took the plunge. “Have you and Garrett thought about having kids?”
I felt a hot jet of delicious broth from my chicken soup skitter down the wrong pipe. Several diners looked over in alarm as I gave a choking cough, only saved when Olivia thrust my cold glass of iced tea in my hands.
Great. First Mom, now Olivia.
“Um, I haven’t asked.”
Thankfully, Olivia didn’t shriek in alarm, or offer immediate chastisement. What she did was worse. She put on her litigator game face, tented her hands under her chin, and regarded me carefully.
“What?!” I took another swig of tea to avoid her piercing gaze.
“What is indeed the question at hand, Mallory.” Olivia leaned back, her pregnancy glow nearly casting a halo around her pretty face. “What do you want?”
“I don’t know.” My voice came out confused and low. “If I did have a clearer idea of what I wanted our family to ultimately look like, maybe I’d be justified in grilling Garrett.”
The few times when the subject of having kids had obliquely crossed our radar, Garrett had been maddeningly unspecific. And to be fair, before this week, despite my mom’s goading, I’d found myself ambivalent, too. Until I’d held little Miri in my arms in June’s shop, and decided maybe I could entertain the thought of having a child someday.
“How would Summer feel?” I blurted out. “Honestly, her opinion matters just as much as mine and Garrett’s.” I loved my fiancé’s daughter like my own. I would never try to usurp her mother Adrienne’s place, but I couldn’t wait to make our relationship official.
“You’ll be a wonderful stepmother, Mallory. And if you and Garrett so choose, I know you’d be fantastic parents to another little one as well.” Olivia graced me with a kind smile as she dug into her bag and returned triumphant with a giant bottle of Tums. “I’m starving these days, but there’s no room in here.” She gestured toward her unbelievably round stomach. “The heartburn is unreal.”
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