A Catered Fourth of July Page 3

  “So what happened?” he asked. “Why did it do that?”

  “I-I don’t know.” Marvin’s lower lip began to tremble.

  Rick put his hands on his hips and jutted his jaw out. “How can you not know? You must have done something to it.”

  “I didn’t do anything,” Marvin protested.

  “You had to have,” Rick insisted. “Something like this doesn’t just happen by itself.”

  Everyone stopped talking and crowded in closer so that they could hear Marvin’s answer.

  Marvin waved his hands around. A bead of sweat dripped down his face and fell on his shoulder. He didn’t like being the center of attention in the best of times and this situation certainly didn’t qualify as that.

  He started to speak. “It’s . . . I . . . the guns . . . sorry. It’s just . . .”

  Libby leaned over and patted him on his shoulder. “It’s okay. Take your time.” Of course, what she really wanted to do was tell Rick to go to hell, but that would just make things worse, so she didn’t.

  Marvin stopped, gave Libby a grateful smile, and took a big breath. After a moment, he started over again. “The guns—”

  “Muskets,” Rick corrected.

  “Let him talk,” Libby snapped. She could feel herself losing control.

  Rick threw up his hands. “Just clarifying.”

  Libby turned back to Marvin. “Go on.”

  Marvin took his hat off and wiped the sweat off his forehead before he answered Rick’s question. “I did what you told me to. I picked the muskets up from Costumers To The Stars two days ago and put them, the powder, and the costumes in the shed next to the rose garden. As far as I know, that’s where they stayed until today. When I came out of the shed with the muskets, people started grabbing them out of my hands, so I put them on the bench and everyone took theirs.”

  Rick looked at the assembled reenactors for verification. “People?”

  “We were running late,” Tony Gerard said. “We just wanted to get out there.”

  “It was nuts,” Dave Nancy agreed.

  Sanford Aiken shook his head. “Sorry. I was trying to remember my lines.”

  Rick turned his gaze back on Marvin. “We can sort that out later, but one thing I know. Muskets don’t explode on their own.” His voice was accusatory. “Especially something that is nothing more than a prop.”

  “Don’t blame him,” Libby cried, leaping to Marvin’s defense.

  “I’m not blaming him. I’m stating the obvious,” Rick said.

  “Actually, they do . . . did,” Bernie said, interrupting the conversation.

  Everyone turned to her.

  “Muskets did explode on their own,” she explained. “I remember reading it was a big problem in the Revolutionary and Civil Wars.”

  “But that was when they were using live ammo,” Cotton objected. “We weren’t using live ammo. We were using fake stuff.”

  “True,” Bernie said. “But if one of the barrels was plugged, the result might be the same.”

  “I very much doubt that,” David Nancy, the last of the redcoats, replied in an antagonistic tone. “Even if what you’re saying is true, I don’t see how that happened here.”

  Bernie shrugged. “The same way it did back then, I imagine. People leaned the muzzle’s barrel on the ground and got a rock, or a branch, or some mud in it. Maybe one of you guys did the same thing.”

  Rick snorted. “Talk about far-fetched.”

  “Not so far-fetched at all,” Bernie told him. “That kind of thing happened a lot back in the day.”

  “But not now.” Rick bared his teeth in a smile. “What makes you such an expert anyway?” he challenged. “I thought pie dough was your specialty. Maybe you should stick to that.”

  “And maybe you should listen to what I was saying,” Bernie retorted. “I never said I was an expert. I was just telling you about what I’ve read.”

  “I thought you just read cooking magazines,” Rick snipped.

  Elise stepped between them before Bernie could reply, which was probably a good thing. Bernie noticed a small spot of blood on the underside of Elise’s sleeve from when she’d knelt by Jack Devlin. She didn’t get why Elise was playing a male colonist in the first place, but who knew? Maybe there had been cross-dressers back then.

  “So exactly what is it that you are saying?” Elise asked Bernie.

  “It’s pretty obvious, isn’t it?” In truth, Bernie hadn’t liked Elise when she was younger and she didn’t like her now, although everyone else except Libby seemed to.

  “Not to me,” Elise replied as she pulled up her breeches.

  Libby answered for Bernie. “It’s simple. My sister is saying that we should wait and see what the police have to say.”

  Rick pointed at Marvin. “The police should talk to him. He was the one who put the powder in the guns to begin with. He was the one who handed Jack Devlin the musket.”

  “I’m sure they will,” Bernie said, trying to calm the situation down. “In fact, they’re going to want to get all of our statements.”

  Everyone continued talking as if she hadn’t spoken.

  Marvin turned to Rick. “I don’t know why you just said that. I already told you I put all the muskets down on the bench next to the shed and Devlin came up and took one just like everyone else. I didn’t hand it to him. For all I know, someone else did. I was too busy doing other stuff to notice.”

  “Like what?” Rick demanded.

  “Like making sure the rest of the supplies were where they should be.”

  “So you say,” Rick sneered.

  Marvin crossed his arms over his chest. “Yes, I do.”

  “And who would this other person be that handed Jack Devlin his musket?” Rick demanded.

  “How would I know?” Marvin admitted. “I just know that it wasn’t me. In fact, how do you know anyone handed him the musket?”

  “Because you just said so.”

  “I was using a figure of speech,” Marvin explained.

  “Then you should be more careful,” Rick said. “Are you always this careless? Maybe that’s why the musket exploded. Maybe you did something you weren’t supposed to.”

  A murmur ran through the crowd. Several people nodded in agreement.

  “Listen,” Marvin said, his eyes pleading with everyone. “The powder in the muskets was just supposed to make noise and smoke. The muskets were props. That’s all.”

  “Maybe you put too much of that powder in,” Samuel Cotton said.

  “It wouldn’t have made any difference if I had,” Marvin retorted.

  “So you’re the expert now,” Sanford Aiken said.

  “No,” Marvin said. “I never meant—”

  “Exactly,” Aiken said, cutting him off. “And that’s where the problem lies.”

  “Why don’t you leave him alone,” Libby cried. “Can’t you see how upset he is?”

  “You’re right,” Aiken said, holding up his hands, palms outward. “I apologize. I shouldn’t have said that. I’m upset, too. It’s just this day. I mean who would have thought when I got up this morning . . .” Aiken’s voice trailed off.

  Tony Gerard jumped in, uttering his first words since Jack Devlin’s death. “We’re all upset. Of course we are. My God, we could have been killed.” He pointed to Jack Devlin lying on the ground. “That could have been any one of us.”

  “Yeah,” David Nancy echoed. “We could all be dead.”

  “There m-must have been a m-malfunction of some s-sort,” Marvin stuttered.

  “Or a careless error.” Elise shuddered theatrically.

  “Isn’t that manslaughter?” Rick asked the crowd. “I think it is.”

  “He’s right,” someone murmured. Heads bobbed as another ripple of agreement moved through the group.

  This is how lynch mobs are formed, Bernie thought. She put her fingers in her mouth and let out a loud whistle. Everyone turned toward her. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves here.” She could h
ear police sirens in the background. For once, she was glad they were coming. “The police will be here any minute. Let’s let them take care of this. Let’s let them do their job.”

  “Fine with me,” Rick said.

  Is it? Libby asked herself as the sirens got closer. After all, he was the one inciting people. She wondered why as she whispered, “It’ll be fine,” in Marvin’s ear.

  Marvin shook his head and bit his lower lip. “I don’t think so.”

  “No. It will be,” she reassured him. “Trust me on this.”

  “I do,” Marvin said even though Libby could tell he really didn’t.

  Heads turned in the direction of the police siren’s wail and the crowd waited for the constabulary to arrive.

  “Can I see the muskets?” Bernie asked. She’d suddenly realized it would probably be the only time she’d get to look at the weapons before the police arrived and confiscated them all. If it wasn’t an accident—and it looked as if it wasn’t—she should take a look.

  “Why?” Samuel Cotton asked.

  Bernie hedged. Somehow saying I want to see if they’ve been tampered with didn’t seem like the best reply, so she said, “I’m just curious.”

  “About what?” Rick demanded.

  “About the muskets,” Bernie said, improvising. “I’ve never seen guns like that.”

  “Since when have you become so interested in munitions?” David Nancy asked.

  “Can’t a girl expand her horizons?” Bernie answered, doing her best Mae West imitation.

  “You want to expand your horizons, go to a museum,” Rick snapped at her. “And can the act. It’s not working on me.”

  “What act?” Bernie asked.

  “The one you’re doing now. Do you think I’m an idiot?”

  “Pretty darn close,” Bernie retorted.

  “One day, your smart mouth is going to get you in a lot of trouble,” Rick warned her.

  Bernie was just coming up with an answer when she felt Libby’s hand around her arm.

  “Leave it. You’re not helping the situation.”

  Rick grinned. “How bad is it when your own sister has to tell you to shut up?”

  Bernie could have answered. She wanted to answer. But she didn’t. She let herself be dragged away by her sister because Libby was right in her assessment of the situation. This was about Marvin. It wasn’t about her. A minute later, the police arrived, along with the Longely Fire Department.

  “Good,” Rick said as people made way to let them through. He puffed his chest out. “Now maybe we can get this thing sorted out.”

  Chapter 4

  Everyone—the reenactors, the Wiccans, and the spectators—was gathered around the police and fire vehicles in a ragged circle with Marvin and Jack Devlin at the epicenter. Everyone that is, except Elise Montague. She was stumbling in the direction of the rose garden.

  Bernie noticed her out of the corner of her eye and nudged Libby. “You stay here. I’m going to see what’s up with Elise.”

  Libby nodded then turned her attention back to Marvin. At the moment, he was her most important priority.

  Bernie pushed her way through the crowd of people, and caught up with Elise at the base of the hill. “Are you all right?” she asked.

  Elise nodded, but her breath was shallow and she looked as if she was going to pass out, a fact that surprised Bernie. Of all the people, she would have picked Elise as the last one to get the willies.

  “Maybe you should sit down,” Bernie suggested.

  Elise shook her head. “I just needed some air.” She pointed to the police. “I have to go back. They’re going to want to speak to me.”

  “They’re going to want to speak to everyone. There’s a long line in front of you.”

  Elise didn’t reply. She just stood there, swaying slightly, a fine sheen of sweat on her face.

  “Let’s go,” Bernie said.

  When Elise didn’t move, Bernie put her hand under one of Elise’s elbows, guided her to a bench under an aspen tree, and sat her down. Then she went back to the gazebo, got two bottles of water out of the cooler, returned, and handed one to Elise. “Drink,” she ordered.

  When Elise raised the bottle to her lips, Bernie noticed that her hands were shaking.

  Elise took a long drink. “Thanks. I know you and I aren’t exactly friends.”

  “Not a problem.” Bernie wondered if she looked as shook up as Elise did.

  “I just never expected . . .” Elise said.

  “Expected what?” Bernie asked, opening her bottle and taking a gulp then another. She hadn’t realized how thirsty she was.

  “This.” Elise touched the spot of blood on her sleeve.

  “I don’t think anyone did.”

  Elise ran her finger over the spot again. “That’s Devi’s.”

  “I know.”

  Elise’s eyes began to mist up. “I suppose all good things must come to an end,” she murmured.

  “Are you talking about Jack Devlin?”

  Elise gave a sharp little laugh. “I suppose I am.” She took another gulp of water. “People said bad things about him, you know.”

  “Indeed, I do,” Bernie replied.

  “Very bad. But he was really a very nice man. Very sweet.” Elise looked up at Bernie. It’s true,” she cried.

  “I’m not disagreeing,” Bernie told her.

  “Do you know that he was religious?”

  “Now I find that surprising, given his conduct and all.”

  “He believed in the creative principle.”

  “Of course he did.” Bernie stifled her desire to laugh.

  “It’s true,” Elise insisted again.

  Bernie made a calming gesture. “Hey. I believe you.”

  “I should get back.” Elise started to stand up then abruptly sat back down. “Everything is spinning.”

  “You’re probably in shock. Try putting your head between your knees.”

  Elise did. A moment later, she lifted it back up. “You know, I passed my test to be an EMT.”

  “So I heard,” Bernie told her.

  “But I don’t think I’m going to do that. Seeing Devi like that . . . his face . . . his face all mashed up, I don’t think I can do this kind of thing after all. Maybe I should go back to bond trading.”

  “Maybe you should,” Bernie agreed.

  “Or find something altogether different. Could you do it?”

  “Do what?”

  “You know. Be an EMT.”

  Bernie didn’t have to think about the answer to that one. “Absolutely not.”

  Elise stood up. Some of the color had come back into her face. “Thanks. I think it’s time to go back and face the music.”

  She passed Libby on the way down and they nodded at each other. Bernie walked over and Libby took the bottle of water out of Bernie’s hand and drank. “The police want to speak to us,” she said as she handed the bottle back.

  “Immediately?” Bernie asked.

  “In a little while. They want to know if we saw anything.”

  “Nothing that everyone else didn’t see, I suspect.”

  Libby nodded in Elise’s direction. “What was that all about?”

  “She felt faint.”

  Libby snorted.

  “She did,” Bernie insisted. “She was very upset.”

  “That’s a new one,” Libby noted.

  “She said she didn’t expect . . .”

  “Devlin to look so bad,” Libby said, finishing the sentence for her.

  Bernie shrugged. “I thought she was going to say she didn’t think the sight of blood would upset her so much, but I could be wrong.”

  “And frequently are,” Libby couldn’t resist saying. “Do you believe her?”

  “That she was so upset?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, she certainly acted that way.”

  Libby took the water bottle back from Bernie and took another sip. “I’m not sure I do.”

  “W
hy?”

  Libby shrugged. “No reason really. Just a feeling.”

  “Maybe it’s because you don’t like her,” Bernie suggested.

  “Me, allow my personal prejudices to cloud my judgment? Never.”

  Bernie smiled.

  Libby was about to follow up on her comment when she spotted Marvin waving to her. “Come on. Marvin wants us.”

  “I’ll be there in a minute. I just want to stay here, poke around a little, and see if I can find anything.”

  “Like what?” Libby asked.

  “Don’t know. But I don’t like the way this thing is heading.”

  Libby frowned. “Me either.”

  Chapter 5

  “Gossip is a terrible thing,” Sean Simmons observed as he studied his daughters’ faces. They both looked exhausted. It had been six hours since Jack Devlin had been shot and the family was finally sitting down to a light evening repast—leftovers from the picnic that had never happened—in the Simmons’s flat. “Especially in a town this size.” He raised his voice so he could be heard over the clanking of the air-conditioner.

  “Yes, it is,” Clyde agreed. A frequent visitor to the Simmons household, he was Sean’s oldest friend. Unlike Sean, Clyde was still a member of the Longely police force, although he was thinking of retiring next year. He reached over and cut himself another sliver of blueberry tart, his third, and carefully conveyed it to his plate. “Remember the Clemson case?”

  “Sure do,” Sean replied, nodding vigorously. “That was so sad.” Before his daughters could ask what had happened, he explained it to them. “I’d just been made police chief and there was a peeping Tom going around this neighborhood.”

  “It created quite the uproar,” Clyde interjected.

  “It certainly did,” Sean agreed. “This guy had been running around for a couple months when everyone, and I do mean everyone, settled on Bob Clemson as the culprit—probably because he was a little weird. There was no proof. In fact there was the contrary, but it didn’t matter. Bob Clemson was the guy. I kept on getting calls asking me what I was going to do about the situation and I kept telling everyone I wasn’t going to do anything because Clemson hadn’t done anything to do anything about.”

  Sean paused for a moment to take a sip of his lemonade. “In retrospect, I should have been more forceful. If I had been, maybe I could have headed off what happened next.”