Tags:
History,
Mystery,
Mystery Fiction,
civil war,
mystery novel,
final revile,
final revely,
amanda flowers,
final tap,
tapping,
syrup,
maple syrup,
living history,
final reveille
Gavin Elliot first,â the detective said.
âGavin?â I asked. âWhy him in particular?â
She scowled at me as if it was clear I hadnât listened to her warning about non-involvement . She was rightâI hadnât.
âWhat about this?â the chief asked, breaking into my thoughts. He pointed at the tree where a limb had been broken off.
âI didnât notice that before.â The missing pine bough had been ripped from the tree.
Detective Brandon took a small camera from her coat pocket and snapped a picture of the broken limb.
âIt looks fresh,â I said.
âIt is.â
âThe branch, if we can find it, may have been the one used to wipe away the tracks,â I suggested.
âPossibly,â she conceded. âOf course, it could have happened any time in the last twelve hours. It doesnât mean that this pine bough is related to Conrad Beesonâs death.â
I scowled, and Chief Duffy patted my shoulder and smiled.
six
Two more police officers joined us in the woods and searched the area under the red maples. One of them was Officer Sonders, who appeared irritated when Detective Brandon questioned how heâd secured the scene that morning.
Chief Duffy cleared his throat. âYou have everything well in hand here, Candy. Iâm heading back to the station. You give me a holler if you need anything.â
The detective nodded and appeared relieved that the chief had turned the investigation over to her.
He nodded to me. âIâll be seeing you at the festival this weekend. The boys and I are looking forward to it.â He was one of the Civil War reenactors who would be on the grounds to answer questions. âWe should talk next year about having a battle reenactment during the festival. There were some battles fought in the winter.â His eyes sparkled at the idea.
I suppressed a groan. One Civil War reenactment during the summer was just about as much as I could handle.
Chief Duffy sauntered off. After heâd disappeared into the trees, Detective Brandon turned to me. âIâd like to question your staff thatâs here today, starting with Gavin Elliot.â
I folded my arms. âYou still havenât told me why you want to talk to Gavin so badly.â
She stared down at me. What I wouldnât give for five more inches, so that we would be looking at each other eye-to -eye.
âMs. Cambridge,â the detective said, âI do not have to tell you anything. This is my investigation.â
I sighed. I would get the information out of Gavin after she left. âFine. He should be in the sugarhouse.â
She waved me on. âLead the way.â
As Detective Brandon and I crossed the pasture, she continued to keep a wary eye on the oxen. Again, I held my tongue. I was pretty proud of myself that Iâd been able to keep my mouth shut twice. Now, if we had to cross the pasture a third time, I couldnât make any promises that I wouldnât crack a joke.
Gavin was in the sugarhouse, as I expected. Part of his job that week, other than running the school visits, was to plan for the Farmâs maple syrup production. Since it was the first year weâd done this, we wouldnât be able to make a lot, but once we could tap the trees, the sap we boiled down into syrup would be bottled and sold in the museum shop.
Steam rolled out of the open doorway. I knocked on the frame. Gavin looked up from the sugar he was stirring with his wooden paddle. His smile faded when he saw Detective Brandon standing next to me. He leaned the paddle against the edge of the metal trough. âThis is about Conrad, isnât it?â
I frowned. Gavin had said the manâs name as if he knew him personally.
Detective Brandon nudged me aside and stepped into the sugarhouse. âYes. I need to talk to you.â
I stepped inside the sugarhouse too.
The detective glared at me over her shoulder. âI