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

head. “Officer Parker said that her maid took her straight to bed. It’s been quite a shock. The maid told Parker that Cynthia’s health has been failing in the recent months.”
    I swallowed. Which is why she was preparing to turn over her foundation to Maxwell. As much as I disliked Maxwell, my heart ached for Cynthia. She was one of the most cheerful and kind people I knew. While others may hide their fortunes away in the turbulent economy, she shared it and supported local arts and community. When she did pass away, it would be a great loss to the entire town of New Hartford.
    â€œIf the village reopens this afternoon, does that mean the Blue and Gray Ball can still be held?”
    The ball was planned to be held Sunday evening. The Farm had rented large white tents, which would be set up where we now stood, in the center of the village green. The tents themselves had cost me a small fortune and then there was the period decorations and food. It wasn’t easy to find a caterer who was willing to make mid-nineteenth-century fare, and the one who’d agreed wasn’t cheap. Just asking the question made my stomach turn. If the ball was cancelled, it could ruin the Farm. Tickets were $75 a pop. And we expected a hundred guests at the event, in addition to the reenactors who had paid extra for the event and the Farm staff who were invited. I guessed that there would be between 300 and 325 people attendance.
    The chief dropped his chew stick on the ground. “The ball has to go on. My wife has been talking about it for weeks. It’s the first interest that she’s shown in my hobby. She bought a hoop skirt!”
    I shoulders sagged with relief. “I’m glad.”
    He pointed a finger at me. “I will have this case tied up by tomorrow afternoon. Because even though I like you, Kelsey, all my money is on you having done it. If I can, I’ll wait to arrest you until after the ball.”
    I wondered if I should say thank you for that kindness.

Eleven
    The medical examiner called for Chief Duffy. The chief tipped his hat to me and walked over to his colleague. A few feet away from them, a crime scene tech held a dead bee up in the sunlight to examine it. He tilted it back and forth in his tweezers before dropping it in a small plastic evidence bag. Beyond the brickyard, I had a clear view of the barn. Jason disappeared around the side of it. I quickly looked away. I didn’t want to bring any of the officers’ attention to Jason; he wasn’t supposed to be in the village.
    I walked along the pebbled path and made like I was going to cross the street. Taking a quick look over my shoulder to make sure that no one was watching me, I veered right toward the barn. I ducked through the break in the split-rail fence.
    The Farm’s two oxen, Betty and Mags, who hadn’t yet been moved to the far pasture for the day, stared at me as I dashed toward the barn door. They weren’t used to having anyone other than Jason in their space. Although the girls were known for being gentle, I didn’t linger to find out how they viewed my visit.
    I jogged up the dirt ramp into the barn, pausing just inside the doorway to let my eyes adjust. There was no electricity. Jason worked by sunlight and battery-powered lanterns when he needed extra light. “Jason?” I whispered. I sidestepped what looked like a dropping from one of the oxen.
    Miss Muffins, our head barn cat, yowled at me and wove in and out of my legs. Many times I wished that Hayden had fallen in love with this lovely calico and asked us to take her home instead of Frankie, the terror of the Western Reserve.
    I bent to scratch her behind the ear. When I straightened, I whispered again, “Jason?”
    Barn Boy materialized out of the shadows of a stall. He moved silently. Many of the seasonal staff complained that Jason was creepy because of how stealthily he moved and because he rarely spoke, even when asked