“Lucie!”
I looked up as B.J. strode toward Kit and me. By now the battlefield was nearly empty.
“I watched you two with Marty and that canoe,” he said. “Good thinking. We really needed a doctor. An EMT from the Eighteenth Mississippi did what he could, but Ray’s in bad shape.”
“They can’t send a helicopter,” I said. “An ambulance is coming. Where was he shot?”
“Looks like somewhere in the abdomen,” he said. “He’s unconscious and he’s lost a lot of blood. The EMT’s got his hand inside his gut.”
I swallowed. “You think he’ll make it?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “Whoever shot him knew where to aim.”
After the ambulance had come and gone, Kit and I walked back to the Confederate camp, where the Black Widow’s tent had been turned into a field office for the sheriff’s department. For the rest of the afternoon and into the evening deputies took names and questioned all the reenactors, who were told to produce their rifles and ammunition boxes. Kit and I sat at a table under a nearby dining tent, wrapped in blankets the Widow had lent us.
At dusk the rain let up. Someone found dry firewood and started a campfire. We moved our chairs next to it, trying to dry out and warm up. As it grew dark, a few modern amenities appeared, including battery-powered lanterns and thermoses of coffee. Several whiskey flasks, which I’d thought were strictly forbidden, also showed up. Kit borrowed paper and a pencil from the Widow and began making notes by lantern light. Around us, people struck tents and packed up supplies. Gradually the campground emptied out.
I pulled my phone out of the pocket of my jeans. The battery was nearly empty. I called Quinn, who answered on the first ring.
“I’ve been trying to reach you,” he said. “I drove over there but some deputy told me it’s restricted access.”
“My phone’s about to die,” I said. “And they’re still questioning reenactors.”
“Frankie and Gina are back here. The winery was a madhouse. Everybody wanted a drink. Eli’s there, too.”
“Tell them they can go home.”
“Sure. Call me when they cut you loose,” he said. “I’ll be in the barrel room.”
“Everything all right there?”
“You don’t want to know,” he said as my phone went dead.
Kit looked up from her paper. “Hey, that’s Grace and Jordy Jordan next to the Widow’s tent. They must be looking for Tyler.”
She waved as they caught site of us. Grace’s snow-white hair, usually pulled into a neat chignon, hung wild and disordered around her shoulders. She looked like she’d been crying. Jordy’s face was ashen.
“Do you know where they’re holding Tyler?” Grace asked. “I hope they haven’t taken him away yet.”
“Where who’s holding him? Taken him where?” I asked.
“Is he in trouble?” Kit asked.
“B.J. called us. They found live ammunition in Tyler’s cartridge box.” Jordy put his arm around Grace as she slumped against him. He sounded incredulous. “B.J. says Tyler claims someone else must have put it there by accident. There’s no way he would deliberately—”
Grace interrupted. “He couldn’t see well with those Civil War glasses he had on. I don’t know why he didn’t wear his own.”
“They think
Jordy nodded, his face bleak. Tyler was their eldest child. Their only son.
“The safety check doesn’t include the cartridge boxes,” he said. “He’s just a kid, even if he is over eighteen. He probably got all excited and reached for the wrong bullet in the heat of the battle.”
“Then it’s an accident,” I said. “They can’t hold him responsible—”
“He’s responsible for bringing live ammunition to an event like this.” Jordy’s shoulders sagged. “We already called Sam Constantine. Tyler’s going to need a lawyer.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?” I asked.
Grace nodded and started to cry again.
“Pray,” she said.
It was midnight when Kit and I finally left the campgrounds and returned to our cars in the deserted parking area. Our shoes sank into the tire-rutted mud.
“You going home?” I asked.
“Only to change clothes. Then back to work. I need to write this up. It’s too late for tomorrow’s paper, but it’ll be on the website. Sorry, kiddo. It’s big news.”
I kept my voice light. “Well, I wouldn’t want the
“We appreciate it.” Her smile was rueful. “Be my maid of honor?”
“If I make it through this, sure I will.”
She blew me a kiss and got into her Jeep. I followed her down Atoka Road. As I signaled to turn into the main gate to the winery, she pulled alongside me and tooted her horn.
“I’ll phone you,” she called through her open window. “Drink. Goose Creek Bridge. Soon.”
Then she waved and sped into the darkness.
The lights still blazed in the villa as I drove by. Frankie’s car was parked next to Eli’s Jaguar, the only two cars in the lot. What were they doing here together so late? I drove home, got a drink, and called the winery.
Frankie answered.
“I saw your car,” I said. “And Eli’s. Everything all right?”
“The news at eleven said Ray Vitale is in critical but stable condition,” she said.
“The sheriff’s department thinks they’ve got a suspect,” I replied.
“Who?”
“I hope you’re sitting down. It’s Tyler. They found live ammunition in his cartridge box.”
I expected her stunned silence. Finally she stammered, “Tyler? Oh, my God, Lucie. Tyler would never shoot anyone. There must be a mistake.”
“Grace and Jordy hired Sam Constantine.”
More silence on her end. Then she said, “I guess it’s serious.”
“Seems so. I’d better call Quinn and tell him. Have you talked to him lately?”
“He packed it in an hour ago. He’s getting a few hours’ sleep in the barrel room. More problems with the Riesling.”
“Maybe I should go over there.”
“You get some sleep, too,” she said. “He’s got Benny and Javier with him. They’ll get a handle on it. You can deal with it in the morning. Don’t give Quinn any more bad news tonight.”
I hung up and slowly climbed the spiral staircase to my bedroom. Had Tyler really shot Ray Vitale by accident? I knew enough about guns to know there was a difference between shooting blanks and live ammunition. In the confusion and roar of noise on the battlefield, though, maybe no one had been able to hear the live shot that felled Vitale. But wouldn’t the shooter have known what he did?
I undressed and took a long, hot shower that left my skin bright pink.
Was Tyler lying because he was scared and didn’t want to get blamed for this, or was he just too inexperienced and caught up in the moment to realize what he’d done?
The third possibility was that he was telling the truth.
Which meant there was another shooter out there—someone who’d gotten away with it—and Tyler had been set up to take the fall for something he didn’t do.
Chapter 25
