our vantage point we could see a group of buckskin-clad riflemen and Indians crouching behind some bushes, waiting to ambush him.
'Used to run track and field in high school,' I said. 'Never was good at contact sports, though,' I added as Wesley, cut off by the frontier unit, made the mistake of trying to break through a flanking unit of Highlanders and ended up at the bottom of a small plaid mountain.
By the time someone found Monty and dragged him out onto the battlefield, Wesley had been rescued from the overly enthusiastic Highlanders and tied up, while a picked honor guard of American, French, British, and German soldiers watched over him.
'What's going on here?' Monty snapped. 'Why is this man tied up?'
'Because he's the one who really killed Roger Benson,' I said.
'And you have some kind of evidence?' he said, with a sneer.
'Hold your horses, you miserable carpetbagger,' Amanda said, as she came trailing after him.
'Wrong period, ma'am,' a soldier said. 'How about miserable Tory?'
'That'll do just fine,' she said, handing me my haversack. I pulled out the McDonald's sack and the file folder and presented them, with a flourish, to Monty.
He still looked a little dubious after I'd showed him the loot I'd found in Wesley's tent, but he began looking interested after the redcoats showed him the second live round they'd found in Wesley's cartridge case, not to mention the newly ventilated canteen. And after Tony Grimes showed up, escorted by a squad of the Virginia militia, confessed to his color blindness and his ignorance of how colonial-era padlocks worked, Monty looked positively triumphant.
'Well, it looks as if we have this, thing wrapped up,' he said. 'I think – '
'What is going on out here?' Mrs. Waterston demanded, storming up to Monty. 'We're trying to have a battle here! I've been working for nearly a year to arrange this event and you're ruining everything. And you – ' she said, turning to me. 'It's all your fault! What do you mean, running out here and – '
'Mom, shut up,' Michael said.
Her jaw dropped. I heard scattered applause from the ranks, followed by a lot of shushing.
'The man who killed Roger Benson was planning to kill me under cover of the battle,' Michael said. 'Meg found out and rushed out here to risk her own life to save me.'
'She did?' Mrs. Waterston said.
Gee, I thought, you don't have to sound quite so surprised.
'But I thought you put the killer in jail,' she said, turning to Monty.
'That was only a ruse to lull the real killer into a false sense of complacency,' Monty said, ignoring the catcalls and raspberries from the soldiers.
'Well, then who is the killer?' she asked.
'Him,' chorused several dozen soldiers, pointing to Wesley – who managed, despite being tied hand and foot, to give a fairly convincing impression of snide villainy.
'Then he's banned from participating in this festival,' Mrs. Waterston announced, turning on her heels. 'Permanently,' she added, more loudly, over the chorus of laughter that accompanied her departure.
'Oh, I'm crushed,' Wesley muttered.
'Yeah, you've got bigger things to worry about,' Monty said, gesturing for two of his officers to help Wesley up. 'like whether the DA goes for the death penalty.'
'It was an accident,' Wesley said. 'Yeah, I know it was stupid to try to cover it up, but I wasn't thinking clearly.'
'An accident?' I said.
'He fell on the eamingo!'
'Wesley, Wesley,' Dad said, shaking his head. 'You know they're not going to believe that. How could he possibly have fallen on the flamingo four times?'
'Four times?' I repeated.
'At least,' Dad said. 'According to the autopsy report, anyway. I wasn't given the chance to examine the deceased myself,' he added, in an injured tone.
'Take him away, boys,' Monty said.
'Attention,' came Mrs. Waterston's voice on the bullhorn. 'Please excuse the interruption to the battle. Our local sheriff's department has apprehended the parties responsible, and as soon as they have been removed from the field, we will start the battle over.'
'She's got to be kidding,' one soldier muttered, but he and the others turned and began ambling off in various directions to retake their starting positions.
'Oh, good. I can get some different angles this time,' Dad said. He popped open one end of his powder keg, ejected a tape from the camera, replaced it with a fresh tape from his cartridge bag, shouldered the keg, and ran off after the
'I think I'll sit this one out,' I said, heading for the barriers that marked the edge of the battlefield. 'I did enough damage for one day in the first skirmish.'
'Or possibly to the first skirmish,' Michael said, falling into step beside me.
'Uh… Meg?'
I turned to see the sheriff, resplendent in buckskins with a coonskin cap, trying to catch up with us.
'When you searched that fellow Wesley's tent, did you happen to find…'
'Hang on,' I said, digging into my bag. 'I have the pictures here.'
'Thanks,' he said.
'Just tell me one thing,' I said, as I handed over Wesley's CD-ROM. 'What were you doing talking to her?'
He winced.
'You may not believe me, but as God is my witness, I was trying to talk her out of that damned fool project,' he said.
'And why is that?' I asked, trying very hard to pretend I knew who the woman was and what project he was talking about.
'People around here don't want a Yorktown theme park,' the sheriff said. 'Can you imagine it – cartoon characters walking around in tricorn hats, a phony early American village, colonial-style rides in the amusement park! I paid attention just fine in school, and I don't recall anything about our forefathers building rollercoasters and selling corn dogs, for heaven's sake. I don't care how many jobs her company promises, that stuff never turns out the way they promise; and even if it did, it's a trashy idea, and I don't want any part of it. And I told her so.'
'Bravo,' I said. 'I agree.'
'And that Wesley took pictures of me telling her, and he threatened he was going to make it look like I was in cahoots with her,' the sheriff said.
'I can't swear those are the only copies,' I said. 'But even if they aren't, I doubt if anyone's going to believe anything Wesley has to say for a while.'
'Well, mat's true,' the sheriff said. 'Thanks.'
He saluted. Remembering I was technically in uniform, I saluted back, and he shambled off.
'Meg!'
'Suddenly I'm Ms. Popularity,' I said, seeing Tad and Rob running my way.
'Do you still have my CD-ROM?' Rob asked.
'And mine?' Tad added.
'More CDs, coming up,' I said, handing each of them the proper little square envelope.
'Okay,' Rob said. 'It's a deal.'
He and Tad exchanged CD-ROMs, and they shook hands formally.
'Okay, I'll bite,' I said. 'Now what are you both up to?'
'I'm going to find a reputable company to develop and market Lawyers from Hell,' Tad said, as he stowed Rob's CD-ROM in an inside pocket of his velvet coat. 'Maybe make a few tweaks to it first. I've got a few ideas that'll jazz it up; make it run like a scalded dog.'
He smiled, started to leave, then turned back.
'Oh, you know that deputy guy you wanted me to check on? He only worked for the Canton PD for about a
