Mel nodded, thanked her for her information, and warned her that he'd probably have more questions for her later on.

When she'd gone, Jane said, "We'd better get out of here. Everybody's going to be wanting to change. Mel, what happened out there? Was the woman really shot?"

“It looks like it. And damned near everybody out there had guns. One poor guy is trying to collect them all now and the reenactors aren't happy about turning over their weapons. We can't require them to, only ask them to do so voluntarily, of course, and since most of the weapons are valuable antiques or expensive replicas, many reenactors aren't feeling especially cooperative. It's a mess."

“Can you tell if she was shot up close or at a distance?" Jane asked.

“That'll be for the coroner's office to determine, but there weren't any visible powder burns."

“At least you're not in charge," Jane said with an attempt to cheer him up.

“Jane, I'm out in the middle of nowhere on what is probably the hottest day of the year, if not the hottest day in recorded history, and I'm trying to be authoritative and official while wearing shorts and a silly green T-shirt that says, 'The Best Pea-Pickin' Festival in the World.' Not being 'in charge' isn't much comfort."

“But you've got great legs," Jane said, unimpressed by his complaints.

He glared at her for a minute, then laughed. "I do, don't I?”

Three

Jane arid Shelley went to the Snellen booth, where a couple of museum volunteers wearing pea-green T-shirts were anxious to be relieved. They were also desperately eager to know what all the sirens and police were about, but Shelley and Jane pleaded ignorance.

The booth not only was shaded, it had aluminum lawn chairs and, more important, a big floor fan humming along under the counter that made everything almost pleasant.