Free The Final Reveille: A Living History Museum Mystery by Amanda Flower Page A

anything about Farm operations. What visitors expected thirty years ago and what they were willing to pay for in today’s world of multimedia overload did not match up. Unfortunately, not all of my employees were on board with my plans. Shepley was one of the old guard who thought it was enough to sit back and wait for the tourists to come to us.
    Self-sufficiency was my ultimate goal for the Farm. I didn’t want us to dependent on Cynthia’s money. And for good reason , I realized as I thought of Maxwell’s threat. I grimaced. Maxwell was about to take the money away before he died. No wonder I looked like such an enticing suspect to the chief.
    I placed my hands on my hips. “Maxwell’s death has nothing to do with the reenactment, Shepley.”
    â€œHow would you know?” he spat.
    I didn’t know. It was wishful thinking on my part, but the encounter I’d witnessed yesterday between Wesley Mayes and Maxwell over Portia didn’t gel with my theory. Had the handsome reenactor been so enraged over Portia’s engagement to Maxwell that he murdered his rival?
    Shepley picked up his garden trowel, which was lying at the foot of a sunflower, and stomped away. One of the deputies hurried after him.
    The chief sighed. “He won’t be away from his bees for too much longer. The medical examiner is almost done processing the scene. You may even be able open up this side of the grounds by late afternoon.”
    â€œThat’s good news, Chief. Thank you.” I glanced around and noticed that Ashland had disappeared at some point during my argument with Shepley. Also absent was Detective Brandon. I turned toward the crime scene and didn’t see her standing with the medical examiner and the other officers. I didn’t like not knowing where the detective was. My instincts told me to be wary of her.
    Chief Duffy hiked up his trousers. “I forgot to mention this when I spoke to you earlier, but I’d advise you not to leave the township.”
    I licked my lips. “Because I’m a suspect.”
    He rolled the stick to the other side of his mouth. “Yep. I suppose I don’t have to really order you to stick around since you live here and all.”
    â€œDo you have any other suspects?”
    â€œSure do. I never put all my eggs in one basket, even if that basket is looking really, really good for committing the crime.”
    I frowned. “I have another suspect who you might not know about.”
    He arched an eyebrow at me. “Trying to spread out the suspicion?”
    â€œOf course.” I folded my arms.
    He smiled at my honesty. I went on to tell him about the argument that I witnessed between Maxwell and Wesley.
    â€œThat does sound promising, but I know Wesley. He’s a fine reenactor. He knows his buttons. Not every reenactor can recognize the right buttons for the uniform. Wesley can.”
    â€œI don’t think buttons should automatically release someone from suspicion of murder.”
    â€œNo, I suppose not.” He sighed as if this was a major failing of our modern society. “But he’s a good one, for a Union man. I’ve even had him in my regiment from time to time when we were low on Confederates. I can’t believe he would do such a thing. He’s tentative on the battlefield and doesn’t have the will to attack like some of my other soldiers do. But I’ll certainly talk to him. It seems that I need to pay a visit to the fiancée, Portia, too.”
    I shielded my eyes from the sun with my hand. “Has Cynthia been told?”
    He nodded. “I’m afraid so. I sent one of my officers to her home to tell her because I couldn’t leave the scene and I didn’t want her to find out through the rumor mill. My officer used to take piano lessons from her as a child. I thought it was a good choice to have someone she knew break the news.”
    â€œAnd how is she?”
    He shook his