“I suppose that’s true.”
“They could have killed Samuel and made it look like suicide.”
“Why?”
Julia realized Paul hadn’t been here for that part. “Because Samuel knew what the object was. Kay probably told him. They were friends and used to talk during the clean-ups. She didn’t know he was stalking her.”
Paul leaned back. “You could be right, but we don’t know enough and I don’t know where else to look.”
“I have an idea. Let’s try Kay’s friends Susan and Mona.” Julia reached for her phone. “I hope they’re up this late.” She called Susan, and the call went to voicemail. She tried Mona, and the call was answered after one ring. “Mona, hi.”
“Julia? What are you doing up so late?”
Julia smiled inwardly. “I’m trying to learn as much as I can about Bill McKenna and James Shoemaker, who was found murdered in McKenna’s well. Did you know McKenna or Shoemaker?”
“I know of McKenna, but I never met him. I never heard of Shoemaker until the murder.” Mona paused. “But I know a woman who might be able to help you.”
“Great. I’d like to speak to her tonight. Can you give me her name and number?”
“I can do better than that.”
37
I?’m Kimberly,” said the older woman with a smile. She had short gray hair, pink reading glasses on a red cord, and a white T-shirt on with cargo pants. She rose from a folding chair in a circle, in which other women were sitting in folding chairs and sewing buttons onto garments, their handiwork illuminated by floor lamps with magnifying lenses. “You must be Julia and Paul, Mona’s friends.”
“Yes,” Julia answered, shaking her hand. “Thanks for seeing us.”
“Yes, thanks,” Paul added.
“Not at all.” Kimberly smiled sadly. “I’m sorry to hear about Courtney. Please give her my condolences, if you talk to her. It’s so unjust that she’s in jail, on top of losing Kay.”
“We’re working on getting her out, that’s why I called you.”
“Okay, well, welcome to our community center.” Kimberly gestured around the room, which was a long rectangle lined with tagged piles of clothes on tables. Navy blue jackets, white shirts, and tan britches sat in sorted stacks next to rows of black tricorner hats andtall brown boots. Muskets were mounded next to fifes, drumsticks, and drums. American flags hung on the walls, from Betsy Ross’s to today’s. “It’s not used much anymore, so we have it to ourselves. It’s the home base for the local regiment.”
Paul asked, “Is that for battle reenactments?”
“Yes, we’re a reenactment club for the War of Independence. We started in the late eighties. We still have a large regiment, sixty reenactors with approximately two million buttons.” Kimberly chuckled, and everyone looked up from their work, their lined smiles lit by the fluorescent rings. Kimberly gestured to them. “These are my fellow camp followers.”
Paul chuckled. “I thought camp follower meant something else.”
“Everyone does.” Kimberly smiled. “Please meet Jean, Jane, Gail, Linda, Michelle, and Mary.”
“Great to see you all.” Julia realized she could be looking at a collective oral history of the town, which might come in handy.
Kimberly continued, “During the Revolutionary War, a camp follower was anyone who followed the Continental Army and supported them. They gave first aid to the sick and injured, sewed uniforms, made baskets and candles, and wrote letters for illiterate soldiers. Martha Washington was a camp follower.”
“I’m Martha Washington this weekend,” interjected Linda.
“I’ll be churning butter,” Gail chirped up.
Jane chuckled. “Gail got the short straw. All I have to do is write letters.”
Kimberly turned to Julia. “So, how can I help you?”
“Almost thirty years ago, a man named James Shoemaker was found dead on Bill McKenna’s property.” Julia addressed the sewingcircle, too, so they’d feel free to add anything. “We’re trying to find out everything we can about McKenna and Shoemaker.”
Paul added, “We know McKenna was a realtor and Shoemaker was from Tallahassee. But we’re trying to understand what those two men had to do with each other. Does anybody have any info?”
