The Final Tap (17 page)

“Jason, a man is dead. This is a case where the Farm is not more important than finding the person responsible for a murder.” Even as I said this, I knew I was guilty of putting the Farm ahead of finding Dr. Beeson's killer. In fact, if I was honest with myself, my entire motivation for trying to find out what happened was the Farm—not just clearing Gavin's name. I wanted to have someone else to blame so that the Farm wasn't in any way liable.

“I didn't want to talk to the police. Not like last summer.”

“The police just want to find out what happened to Dr. Beeson,” I said.

“The detective doesn't like me.” Jason said this with so much confidence, I didn't have the heart to lie and tell him he was wrong.

“I don't think there are many people that Detective Brandon truly likes. She's just doing her job. She doesn't have to like anyone to do it,” I said.

“I don't want to draw attention. Things go bad when I draw attention.”

“What do you mean?”

He frowned and started petting Frankie again. The tiger cat kicked up his purring.

Before I'd let Jason move in the trailer on the Farm grounds, I'd told him he had to tell me his story. After some time, he had told me that he'd gone into foster care at the age of seven and bounced around from house to house until he was eighteen. None of the homes had stuck. My heart broke for him. He hadn't been much older than Hayden when he'd entered the system. It made me physically ill to think of my son in that situation. Eddie and I were fighting over our son, and here was Jason, who presumably no one wanted, but who somehow retained a sweet, quiet way that I came to appreciate more every day.

“I didn't want to lose my home,” Jason said. “The trailer, the Farm, is my first real home.”

My stomach fell down to my shoes as I remembered my conversation that afternoon with Henry and the other Cherry Foundation board members.

Jason stood. “I'm glad you're okay. You and Hayden—you're the only family I have.”

His comment was so sincere, it only made me feel worse. I had to find a way to keep the trailer on the grounds. I set my mug on the coffee table, stood, and took Jason's
still-f
mug and placed it next to mine.

He headed for the front door. “Thank you, Kelsey.”

“For what?”

“Everything.” He gave Frankie one final pat. “Good night.” With that he strode out the front door, tracking mud back across my floor.

As soon as the door closed, Frankie stopped purring and hissed at me.

“I thought you were turning over a new leaf,” I commented.

He turned tail and gave me an unpleasant view of his back end before running upstairs to his lair under Hayden's bed.

twenty-eight

I can't say I
slept much that night. I tensed at every noise the old cottage made and every sound from outside. When you live in the woods there are many noises: hoots from owls, deer crashing through the brush, and the late winter wind whistling through the trees. It's easy to be spooked. I'd never been frightened in the cottage before, not even last summer when there'd been a killer on the Farm during the Civil War Reenactment. Now, I was nervous, and I hated it. I hated it that the Hooper boys and whoever killed Dr. Beeson had robbed me of the peace that the cottage had always given me.

I knew I should have called Detective Brandon as soon as Jason left, but it was already late. I soothed my guilt by promising myself that I'd call her in the morning.

At some point, I must have fallen asleep, because I woke up in a jolt when my alarm went off at six. It was Saturday, the first full day of the Maple Sugar Festival, and there was so much to do before the visitors started arriving for our nine a.m. opening time.

Tiffin was asleep on the floor beside my bed as always, but to my surprise, I found Frankie curled up at the foot of the bed. He glared at me with his one good eye.

“Were you protecting me, Frankie?” Maybe the visit from Jason, the cat whisperer, had worked wonders on Frankie after all.

The
one-eyed
cat hissed and jumped off the bed as if offended by the very idea.

Then again, maybe not.

I didn't have time to worry about Frankie and his poor manners. I had to get going as quickly as possible and check everything over before the visitors arrived. Benji and the rest of the staff would be arriving within the hour. I threw back the covers and headed for the bathroom.

Thirty minutes later, Tiffin and I were out the door. I scanned the yard as I went. The only evidence that anyone had been in the yard the night before were footprints in the thawing ground. I would call Detective Brandon and tell her about the evening's adventure just as soon as I checked the grounds and made sure that everyone was ready for the festival. I knew I was just making excuses, and the longer I put the call off the more annoyed the detective would be with me for not calling earlier.

Tiffin and I headed down the pebbled path through the maple grove to the visitor center. Tiffin placed his nose to the ground like a bloodhound, then suddenly lifted it and took off down the path.

“Now what?” I muttered as I ran after him.

It didn't take me long to realize what Tiffin was worked up over. In the maple grove, it was obvious. All the pails were knocked off the trees. Sap dripped from the spiles in the sugar maple trunks and fell to the thawing ground.

The sugarhouse door swung on its hinges. I ran inside to see that the table had been overturned, and Gavin's vials of maple syrup, which he showed to visitors to illustrate the difference in color among the grades of syrup, were smashed on the floor.

Tiffin tried to get around me to go into the room.

“No, Tiff, back. You could cut your paw on the glass.”

He whimpered and stepped back.

I couldn't put off my call to Detective Brandon any longer. Something had to be done about those Hooper brothers, because I knew they were behind this. I removed my cell phone from my pocket and dialed a number that unfortunately I knew by heart.

Despite the early hour, the detective answered her phone on the first ring.

“Detective? It's Kelsey Cambridge.”

“I know that from the caller ID. What do you need, Ms. Cambridge?”

If nothing else, the detective had great bedside manner, I thought sarcastically.

“I need to report more vandalism on the Farm, and I know who did it.” I went on to tell her about my discovery, my visit from the Hooper boys the night before, and my suspicions about them.

“Why didn't you call me last night with this information?” Her voice was sharp, even sharper than usual.

“I meant to.” I knew it wasn't great as far as excuses were, but it was the best that I had.

She snorted. “I'm on my way.”

After the detective hung up, I called Benji, Gavin, and a few of the
part-time
staff and asked them to come in early to help me clean up the mess.

Benji was the first to arrive, even beating Detective Brandon. She'd been on her way to the Farm when I'd called. She immediately joined me at the sugarhouse to assess the damage. It wasn't as bad as I'd first thought. It could be cleaned up quickly before the festival began.

She looked around the sugarhouse. “Who did this?”

“I know who,” I said and I told her about my encounter with the Hoopers. “We should start cleaning up.”

“Not yet,” Detective Brandon said from behind us. “My team and I need to take a look around.”

I turned to find her standing in the doorway to the sugarhouse. “Detective, we have to open in two hours for the festival. The sugarhouse must be up and working by nine. We have three hundred people coming to the Farm today to see how maple syrup is made.”

“This is a crime scene and may be connected to Conrad Beeson's murder,” she said. “I'll decide if and when you can enter the building.”

“But—”

“The longer you argue with me, the longer it'll take.”

I glared at her, and Benji and I backed off.

Benji scowled. “She's such a pain. You know she's throwing her weight around just because she doesn't like you.”

“Maybe that's a tiny part of it, but she's right. She has to make sure there isn't anything that connects this to the murder.” The reality of the circumstances settled on my shoulders like an oxen's yoke. A man had been murdered, and the fact that I was alone with two possible culprits last night turned my stomach. Detective Brandon was right. I should have called her last night.

Benji wasn't cutting Detective Brandon any slack. “But you said it was Scott and Shaun Hooper who came to the Farm last night.” She watched me. “Do you think they killed Beeson?”

“I don't know, but at the very least, I do believe they saw something.” I told her how Laura and I went to the Hooper place late yesterday afternoon.

“No wonder they came over here and trashed the sugarhouse,” Benji said.

“That doesn't make me feel any better, Ben.”

She sniffed. “In any case, we'll be ready to set up just as soon as the detective gives her blessing. We can have this cleaned up in no time. Alice is already in the kitchen with her staff preparing for the pancake breakfast.”

“Good.” I smiled, feeling a tiny bit better.

“Did Barn Boy see anything?” Benji asked.

I arched an eyebrow at her.

She rolled her big brown eyes in return. “Fine. Did Jason see anything?”

“No. But he heard the shouts. He came by my cottage, but the Hooper boys were gone by then.”

She shook her head. “I still don't understand what the Hooper boys meant by it. Why would they be so stupid as to do this?” She gestured to the pails and spiles on the ground. “I mean, you saw them. You know it was them.”

Good question.

“Kelsey!” Chief Duffy's booming voice pulled me away from my conversation with Benji. “I came as quick as I could, but one can't just throw on regimental uniforms.” The police chief was in his full Confederate General uniform, all the way down to the ceremonial sword. “Heard about your troubles on the radio. You think it was the Hoopers?”

I nodded. “They were here last night.” I started to tell him and Officer Sonders about my encounter.

Detective Brandon must have heard the chief as well, because she came out of the sugarhouse. She wasn't smiling, not that that was unusual.

“We need the sugarhouse today,” I said. “The Maple Sugar Festival could be ruined without it.”

“'Course you do. 'Course you do. Candy, are you done here? Kelsey and her staff need to get in there and prepare for the festival.”

“Chief, I just arrived. I still have to fingerprint the scene.”

He held his coat by the lapels. “Officer Sonders can do that while we run over and interview the Hoopers. Seems to me that your time would be much better spent talking to potential witnesses than keeping Kelsey and her staff from preparing for the day.”

“But Chief—” the detective protested.

“Officer Sonders will give it the
once-over
, and then we'll let them clean up. Won't you, Sonders?”

The young officer nodded.

Detective Brandon glared at me, as if the police chief overruling her was somehow my fault. Yes, I wanted her to leave the sugarhouse as soon as possible, but I hadn't told the chief to kick her out.

Detective Brandon cleared her throat. “I'll be at the Hoopers'.” With that she stomped away.

twenty-nine

With Chief Duffy's go-ahead,
we were able to hang the sap collection pails back on the trees, scrub up the worst of the maple syrup spills, and sweep all the broken glass from the sugarhouse. By the time we were done, it was eight thirty, which gave me just enough time to run back to the cottage to change before the festival. As we cleaned, Laura and the rest of my staff arrived, as well as Chief Duffy's small troupe of reenactors who'd volunteered to come and entertain the visitors.

When I went inside the visitor center, there was a line out the door of people waiting to enter the pancake breakfast. It stretched all the way to the parking lot, and Judy had just unlocked the door.

I couldn't stop smiling. Despite everything that had gone wrong over that last two days, the Maple Sugar Festival was turning into the success I'd known it would be. This was exactly what I'd wanted to see when I'd first had the idea for the Maple Sugar Festival. With three or four more successful events like this every year, I knew that the Farm could not fail, and I wouldn't have to worry about what Henry Ratcliffe and the other Cherry Foundation board members said about it either.

I winced internally. Here I was, making plans for the future, and Conrad Beeson was dead. He couldn't plot and plan for his own future. I tried to shake the melancholy thoughts from my head and focus on the day.

I watched Abraham Lincoln chatting with people as they waited in line. With the encouragement of Chief Duffy and his regiment, Abe was in residence, and there were a dozen more reenactors there talking about the War and the maple trees. I had yet to see Chase, not that I'd been looking for him.

A boy stared at Lincoln in awe. “Do you eat pancakes?”

Abe bowed to him. “I love pancakes. Would you like to hear my ode to them?”

The boy nodded, and I noticed that others standing in line leaned in to hear the ode. As far as I knew, Lincoln—the real one—never wrote an ode about pancakes, but I wasn't about to correct the historical inaccuracies.

I was relieved to have Honest Abe there to keep the crowd occupied as they waited. My staff and the dozen or so volunteers who'd come in to help were doing a fantastic job in keeping the crowds calm and patient as the line moved slowly forward.

A young man in a Union army uniform collected tickets from the pancake eaters. “Please go in.” He gestured to the dining room.

After they'd finished eating their breakfast, they went out into the Farm where my historical interpreters and more Civil War reenactors waited to tell them what it was like to live in Ohio during the Civil War. Since the ground was too wet for the sleigh, the Farm's wagon, with Scarlett and Rhett at the front, waited to give guests rides back and forth to the maple grove. One of my seasonal staffers sat in the driver seat in his period clothing. At least the
festival-goers
wouldn't be subjected to Shepley as their driver like the school children had been. Another seasonal worker helped guests step into the wagon for the Maple Sugar Festival's inaugural ride.

Laura joined me near the door. “I knew I shouldn't have left you last night. Benji told me what happened.”

“I wasn't in any real danger,” I said, trying to sound more confident than I really was. “The Hooper boys were just trying to throw their weight around. I'm sure they're sorry now. Detective Brandon went over to their home to talk to them.”

“That would make me sorry.” Laura patted the bun coiled at the back of her head. “I haven't been in this
get-up
for a few months. I almost forgot how to tie my corset.” She sighed. “It was one of those times it would have been nice to have a man around to help me out.”

Laura was always looking for a date. I knew she could have just about any man she wanted with her long blond hair, curvy figure, and beautiful skin. I just didn't think most men deserved her.

She eyed me. “Speaking of men. Have you seen Chase?”

I shook my head and watched as the full wagon rolled into the trees.

She leaned close to me. “Are you looking for him now?”

I rolled my eyes, grateful that Hayden wasn't around to see me. “I'm trying to see if any of the Sap and Spile members came.”

“Back to the scene of the crime?”

“Exactly.”

She groaned. “You can't possibly think the killer is here.”

“I don't know what to believe. I shouldn't count anyone out as a suspect.”
Including Gavin
, I mentally added. He was now in the sugarhouse in
nineteenth-century
costume, talking to tourists about maple syrup's importance in combatting the Rebels.

Laura tapped her index finger to her cheek. “You know, the Kelsey I know doesn't usually ask for anyone's advice or help to solve her problems.”

I laughed.

“But after last night, I think you should leave this whole matter to the police. I'm worried about you.”

“Don't be. I'm fine.”

A man stepped around the line and headed straight onto the grounds. It was Daniel, the college maintenance worker, who I'd first met at the Sap and Spile meeting. I recognized his ponytail.

“There's one now,” I said.

“There's what now?” Laura asked.

“Someone from Sap and Spile. I need to talk to him.”

Her groan followed me out the door.

By the time I wove through the crowd trying to get out of the building, Daniel had disappeared. I almost gave up, but then I spotted him heading toward the sugarhouse and quietly followed. I should have known. He must be here to check out Gavin's operation.

Daniel stopped outside the door to the sugarhouse and listened to the demonstration.

“We've been increasing our sugar production tenfold since the war began,” Gavin said, in character. “Sugar cane and molasses are harder to come by every day. At first we couldn't get it because the south was closed off to us, but even now that we got Old New Orleans back from the Rebs, it's still hard to come by because the farmland has been abandoned or scorched by our own men.”

Daniel rubbed his chin, as if he was considering the story that Gavin told the tourists.

I walked up beside him.

He glanced in my direction. “Been snooping around any greenhouses lately, Ms. Cambridge?”

I felt my face heat up. “Not since yesterday.”

“Good to know. This is quite an event you have going on here.” He nodded toward the trees, where more reenactors and a handful of my interpreters in
nineteenth-century
dress entertained the crowds. “Everyone seems to be enjoying themselves.”

“I'm happy with the turnout,” I said.

“As you should be.” He rubbed his chin again. “I just think it's strange how so many people come here to learn about maple sugar and the Civil War.”

“Why's that?” I asked.

“It just seems odd to me, is all. It was never a topic of conversation at Sap and Spile until after the release of Beeson's book. We all knew, for a long time, that he was writing a book, but he was always
hush-hush
about the subject matter. Many of us, myself included, just assumed it was some sort of academic work about plants. Imagine our shock when he produced a history book of all things.”

“Dr. Beeson wasn't interested in history?” I asked.

“He'd never showed much interest in it. At least none that I was aware of. At Sap and Spile meetings, he was always focused on the science of maple sugaring and methods about boiling and what woods would burn the hottest and the longest, what property the type of wood would give to the maple syrup it created. It was very strange.” He shrugged. “I suppose everyone can have a surprising talent or interest.”

“What were your feelings about Conrad Beeson?”

His mouth curled into a smile. “Do you mean to ask, did I kill him?”

I swallowed. “Yes.”

He laughed at my honesty. It was a low raspy laugh. “No, I did not.” He paused. “I can't say I cared much for the man, but I didn't care enough to kill him either. Maple sugaring is a hobby of mine. It's not my life, like it is for many of our members.” He held up a hand to me, as if to stop me from saying something. “And before you ask, I was at work when Beeson was attacked. Six fellow employees can vouch for me.”

“Oh, all right.”

He chuckled. “Don't look so disappointed, Kelsey. You just have to find the person who cared enough to take Conrad's life.”

He said it as if it were a simple task.

I changed the subject. “Why is Sap and Spile only for men?”

“It just seemed to fall in that way. No woman has ever asked to join. We've been having meetings since the 1920s. Over time the word got out that it was men only, but there's nothing in the bylaws that specifically says that. Why?” His eyes twinkled. “Are you interested in joining?”

I shook my head. “I think that after this weekend, I'll have had enough of maple sugar to last until next year's festival.”

“You plan to do it again?”

I nodded. “As you can see, it's turned out to be a popular event.”

“Hope that no one dies next time.”

“That would be nice,” I agreed.

“Kelsey! There you are!” My father's voice boomed across the Farm even though he was still thirty yards away from the sugarhouse.

I thanked Daniel for speaking to me and went to meet my father.