Grace Interrupted (14 page)

“Then enlighten me.”

“Keep walking. Keep watching. You’ll begin to understand.”

“To be perfectly frank, I’m surprised you invited me in.”

“Might as well. We’ve gone completely farby anyway.” He waved a hand toward a nearby police officer and frowned. “These encampments are best when everyone takes things seriously. That’s when we forget all about the twenty-first century and pretend we’re out there, fighting for what we believe in. We work and live together here, whether we wear the blue or the gray.”

“And you’re here for fun.”

“More than fun, Ms. Wheaton. It’s a way of life we choose to embrace. A simpler time. We have the opportunity to share what we’ve learned with others through our Living History. We’re happy to do so, even though it occasionally makes us feel like animals in a zoo. But the truth is, I really do need your help. Have you ever been in the military?”

I shook my head.

“Well, let me tell you, it’s like nothing else. There’s a camaraderie, a closeness, and a commonality of purpose that’s sacred. Even though at least half of our colleagues have never actually served in the real military, they feel the same way I do. We trust each other. We rely on each other. No one leaves until the last tent is broken down. And even then most of us would rather stay than return to our dreary, dismal twenty-first-century lives.”

He allowed his gaze to rove the tents, the people, and the trees in the distance, then drew a deep breath of air as he slapped at his chest. “This is the life, Ms. Wheaton. Here. Right now. I know that people view us as a bunch of playacting fanatics but these weeks we spend together are what make the rest of the year tolerable.”

I didn’t quite know what to say to that.

He continued. “Mr. Kincade has been killed. That’s a fact no one disputes. But my point holds: If one of our members saw something, don’t you believe they would share that with the authorities? That would be the honorable thing to do.”

I acknowledged his argument. “What about that man you mentioned yesterday? Florian or something.”

“Jim?” Pierpont laughed. “Jim’s the nicest guy in the world. He would never . . .” Abruptly, he stopped himself, turning to stare out over the top of the tents. I watched a thought work across his features. Shaking his head, he said very quietly, “No, no matter what, Jim’s not a killer.”

“I’m not saying he is. I was just using him as an example. You said he found the body . . .” I let the thought hang and hoped he would run with it. Pierpont’s reaction had given me pause. He’d started out with a knee-jerk, “no way” when I’d mentioned Florian, but then stopped. Why? What was behind the change? I wanted to know but Pierpont switched the subject back to his impassioned request.

“Please talk with the police on our behalf. I’m not asking them to stop their investigation, just to take the activity a little bit off-site. Let us have our privacy. We’re not going anywhere. And you promised us a quiet week on your grounds. That’s what we paid for.”

“I have no control over the police . . .”

“All I ask is that you try.”

I could do that much. “Fine.”

“Thank you! I knew you’d understand.”

“There’s no guarantee they’ll listen to me even if I do talk with them.” I cringed, thinking of Rodriguez’s comment about my interfering again. “But before I do, I want to know what you were referring to on the phone. You said that you’d reported something else. What was it?”

“I think I found a clue.” Pierpont’s eyes twinkled conspiratorially. “The police told me not to share this with any of the other re-enactors, but I’m sure they’d approve of my letting you know.”

Near the center of the gathering we passed several very large tents with flaps open on all sides. Two little boys ambled out from behind one of these open tents, laughing and clearly enjoying rock candy sticks. Pierpont noticed me watching them. “We even keep our treats authentic,” he said.

“Do their mothers make these?”

“Maybe, but those are from the candy store at the sutlers’ area.”

“The what?”

He pointed to where the kids had emerged. “Think of it like a Civil War mall,” he said. “You need something, it’s there. Uniforms, food, supplies. Blacksmiths, gunsmiths, you name it. One time my rifle wouldn’t fire—on the first day of camp. I took it to the gunsmith and had it back in an hour. Good as new.”

“Convenient.”

“Part of what makes it real.”

Taking deep breaths of the savory air and hearing the horses’ distant whinnies, I began to appreciate Pierpont’s point. Escaping civilization for a little while—to forget about e-mail and gas prices, to create one’s own entertainment instead of just plopping in front of the TV—was an enticing prospect. I would miss my blow-dryer and curling iron, but the fresh-faced, bun-wearing women here seemed to be doing just fine without such gadgets.

A half step farther, however, I sucked in a breath of surprise. Two women strutted by decked out in shades of fuchsia, red, and pink. They both had curled hair and wore plenty of makeup. Strolling and laughing, they winked at every man they passed as they made their way toward the sutlers’ area. “Who are they?” I asked in a hushed voice.

Pierpont shrugged. “Soiled doves,” he said. “Wives of re-enactors who like to pretend they’re working girls, if you know what I mean. It’s just another role. Accurate, though unnecessary if you ask me.”

“Back to the clue you mentioned,” I prompted. “What exactly did you find?”

“Friday night, I went out for a walk by myself. Away from the camp.”

“At the time of the murder?”

He gave me a weary glance. “No, Ms. Interrogator. They said Zachary was killed between eleven and one. This was much earlier. In fact, it was just after the storm cleared. I’d say closer to eight.”

“Go on.”

“As much as I enjoy the storytelling and socializing around the fire, it had been a hectic day and I needed some time to settle my nerves. I rejoined the group later that evening when the camp had quieted down.” He winked. “It gets so much nicer when the young mothers put their small children to bed for the night.”

He must have seen the look on my face because he hastened to add, “Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I hate kids. At these gatherings, however, I simply prefer the company of the old-timers. We can be rude and crude and not chastised for our behavior. The real veterans of the group stay up late to drink and sing and talk about the old days.”

This was getting me nowhere. “You were saying you found something?”

“Do you realize how close the estate fence is to our campsite?”

I thought about it. “A half mile south? Maybe a little more? That isn’t a problem, is it? There isn’t much traffic on those access roads and you should be protected by the higher ground.”

“It’s fine, fine. No, that’s not it. We don’t hear a thing. But Friday night I decided to take a long walk and I intended to avoid the paved roads and any fences because they serve as reminders that I’m not in the nineteenth century.”

“Farby,” I said.

“Exactly!” Pleased that I’d picked up some of the lingo, he continued. “But I’d misjudged the distance and walked too far. Before I knew it, I was at the south fence. Worse, I’d lost my bearings because of the cloud cover. I had to follow the fence until I found the road. At that point I was able to make my way back.”

“What does this have to do with Mr. Kincade’s murder?”

“Did you know that there’s a gate back there?”

“We have a lot of gates.”

“This one is at the junction of the road and the south fence. It doesn’t look like it’s used very often. The gate is rusted, as is the heavy chain. But the padlock is rather new.”

I still wasn’t getting it. “So?”

“The padlock was open,” he said. “The chains were still in place and anyone driving past—like a guard or something—would assume it was secure. But when I was up close, I could tell that the lock was open.”

“Why do you think that makes a difference?”

“Because after all this happened, I decided the police ought to know what I’d found. I took them out there to show them the open lock, and guess what?”

I couldn’t guess.

“All secure again. Like someone with a key had opened it ahead of time for the killer, and then come back and locked it once the deed was done. With no one the wiser.” He went up on the balls of his feet—supremely proud of himself. “Interesting, wouldn’t you say?”

“You’re suggesting this murder was premeditated? That it wasn’t one of your members who got carried away in a drunken fury?”

Pierpont looked genuinely surprised by my question. “Come now, Ms. Wheaton. I think we both recognize that this was a targeted attack. I can assure you Zachary Kincade had no trouble accumulating enemies. You saw the truth of that yourself. Within fifteen minutes Friday you witnessed two altercations. I’ve seen many more.”

“Any with Jim Florian?”

Pierpont gave me a shrewd look. “Believe me when I tell you that Jim is one of the most tolerant guys I’ve ever met.”

“Is he Union or Confederate?”

“Union, like me, why?”

And like Zachary. There went that theory. “I thought maybe if he was Confederate he would have held a grudge against Mr. Kincade.”

Pierpont laughed. “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. Don’t go jumping to conclusions until you truly understand re-enacting. At night when the drills are done and the fire crackles, we all join in the center to sing songs, share stories, tell jokes.” He pointed toward the giant sutler area. “That central area serves both sides. We’re only enemies on the battlefield, and even then everything is choreographed.” With a wistful look in his eyes, he smiled. “This is one of the most welcoming, generous groups I’ve ever encountered. I’m proud to be their leader and I know no one in my division or in any of the regiments here who could have done such a thing.”

“I highly doubt those two women came back that night to kill him.”

“Oh no? They wanted to hurt him,” he reminded me, “as did your gardener.”

“No. That time Kincade attacked.”

“Regardless, the bad blood between them would be evident to a child. Who else could it have been?” Pierpont raised his hands to the sky. “Both the women and that gardener had reason to hate him. Whoever killed Zachary got his or her revenge. I’m sure there’s no danger to those of us here at the re-enactment.” He gave a self-satisfied bow. “For what it’s worth, my money is on that gardener.”

I WAS AT MY DESK MONDAY MORNING WHEN I heard the door to the outer office swing open. As it shut, Frances marched in, interrupting me from reviewing the prior week’s time sheets.

“
Two
murders on the manor grounds since you started working here,” she said, wiggling her head. “You know, this used to be a safe place to work.”

She was wearing a white polyester shell with purple irises blossoming up from its hem. Her neck waddled and her eyes danced in anticipation, clearly eager for me to rise to the bait. Was I tempted? Absolutely.

“Good morning, Frances. How was your weekend?”

“Nowhere near as eventful as yours, I’m sure.”

That was true enough. Niceties complete, I got right to business. “The re-enactors’ ‘Living History’ was supposed to begin today, but they’ve delayed it because of the police investigation. We may need to ask security to pitch in and help with crowd control once the event opens.”

She held up a finger. “First things first. How come they haven’t arrested anyone?”

“I don’t know, Frances,” I said. “Why don’t you call up the detectives and find out what’s taking them so long?”

She grimaced. “I told you that Jack Embers was no good.”

I bit back a retort and decided to change the subject. “Bennett called me early this morning about that auction he attended last week. He bought something he’s quite excited about and said to expect delivery today or tomorrow.”

“What is it?”

“He wouldn’t tell me. Just that this acquisition was perfect timing.”

“Hmph,” Frances said, “if Abe were here, the Mister would have told
him
.”

I kept my cool. “I’m sure you’re right. But as you’re always so eager to point out, I’m not Abe.”

That shut her up. “I’ll be in my office,” she said and spun, ready to march away again.

Although I wasn’t the only person Frances irked, I was the only one required to work with her on a regular basis. Shortly after Abe’s murder, she had put forth considerable effort to get me discharged. For a while there I thought Bennett would take her word over mine. Fortunately, however, though a bit battered and bruised, I’d hung on. Unfortunately, so had she.

Joy of joys. I was stuck with Frances until she chose to retire, which, from the looks of things, wouldn’t be anytime soon.

“Just a moment, Frances.”

She turned and I hesitated. I didn’t want to bicker with this woman. Nor did I want to become the tyrannical boss who always insisted on “my way or the highway.” Frances had grown accustomed to working with Abe, a gentle fellow who had let her run the place because she could. She knew every employee, every procedure, and where every dust bunny was hiding. What she lacked in people skills she more than made up for in efficiency. Although I never got the impression she expected to be promoted into Abe’s position, I did get the impression she resented me.