I pulled into a gravel area, where at least ten trucks and horse trailers were already parked, and followed the sound of voices to the barn. As I walked in, conversation stopped and about twenty pairs of eyes turned to stare at me. Everyone there wore riding breeches, high leather boots, hunting coats, and black helmets. I suddenly realized that while my high-heeled cowboy boots, fringed leather jacket, and jeans were the proper riding costume for New Mexico, they were all wrong for south-central Pennsylvania. Most definitely wrong! No wonder the woman at Sheetz had laughed at me. I was glad I'd at least left my cowboy hat in the car.

Eyes were politely averted and conversations resumed as I brazened my way through the crowd to find Charlotte Macmillan.

“She's outside, by the pool,” a woman told me.

Charlotte was standing by a long table, on which were several coffee urns and boxes of baked goods. She, too, wore the establishment riding garb. She looked just like everybody else there, except for the tan elastic mask hiding her face. Her lips smiled when she saw me, and she greeted me with as much warmth as if I'd been a member of the royal family come to play polo.

“I was positive you'd take me up on my offer to interview my friends,” she said.

I shook my head. “There's no need for me to do that, Mrs. Macmillan. The police have already verified your-”

“Alibi. You can say it.” Again, I admired her forth-rightness. “And please call me Charlotte. It makes me feel ancient when you call me Mrs. Macmillan.”

That was something I could understand.

“Won't you have some breakfast, Tori?” She pointed to the spread on the table. “The sticky buns are from the new bakery here in town and are just wonderful. I swear a day doesn't go by that I don't buy some.”

Since I'd had to lie down to zip my jeans up that morning, I regretfully turned down the sticky buns but did accept a cup of coffee. It was surprisingly good, putting an end to my theory that nobody in south-central Pennsylvania could make decent coffee.

“Let's pick a horse for you to ride,” she said, linking her arm in mine. “You look like an experienced rider.”

“Don't judge me by my Roy Rogers cowboy suit, please. I've ridden, but I'm no expert.” As we walked toward the horse barn, I heard dogs barking in the distance. “Pets?” I asked.

“No, I breed dogs.”

Moonbeam's roommate, Gloria, had told me that Mack Macmillan lobbied for the puppy-mill people. Had he run one also? “I love dogs. May I see them?”

“I'm afraid not.” She led me into the barn, where there were rows of box stalls on either side. “The bitches get nervous when strangers come around the puppies, Tori.” Three or four horses whinnied a greeting. “How about Maizie here? She's very good-natured.”

I looked up, way up, at the most enormous creature I'd ever seen. Maizie bared her teeth at me. The better to eat you with, my dear. “I think I'll need a steplad-der,” I said.

Charlotte chuckled. “I'll have her saddled up. You two will get along just fine.” She waved to a young man, who put down his pitchfork and came over. With her fingers moving at lightning speed, she signed to him, and he opened the gate to the stall and led Maizie out into the center of the barn.

Charlotte noticed me watching. “I hire hearing-impaired students from the Learning Center,” she said. “It's a good opportunity for them and saves me a little money.”

“Where did you learn to sign?”

“My dear mother taught me. It was my first language. You certainly are full of questions”

“It's my nature as a journalist, I guess.”

“Did your asking questions have anything to do with the arrest of that terrible man yesterday?”

“Woody? No, that came as a surprise to me.”

“You do believe he caused my husband's death, don't you?”

And she thought I asked questions! “Actually, Charlotte, I don't understand how an accident of this nature could have occurred. He's staged dozens of executions and should know how to do it right by now.”

“Maybe it wasn't an accident. That man was known to hold a grudge against Mack.”

“What about?”

She shrugged. “I've always tried to keep my nose out of my husband's business affairs, but there was a time about a year ago when he was trying to buy some farmland east of the battlefield to put up a one-stop shopping mall. The downtown merchants felt it would take business away from them and formed a committee to put a stop to it. Woody was their spokesman. He and my husband had a number of public battles.”

“What happened? Is the mall going to be built?”

“No, while half the people in town were fighting my husband, another developer came in and quietly put up a mall south of the battlefield. Mack blamed Woody and his damn committee for making him miss the opportunity to get rich.”

The horse was ready then. After an embarrassing moment when I couldn't get on Maizie's back and had to be boosted up by two young grooms, Charlotte and I joined the rest of the party, already mounted and eager to ride.

“Perhaps you'll want to take Maizie around the ring a few times to get used to her,” Charlotte said. She appeared to be doubtful of my riding abilities. That made two of us. I'd only used a western-style saddle before. On this, there wasn't even a pommel to grasp. I probably should have been grateful she didn't have me riding sidesaddle.

“Giddyup,” I ordered. Nothing happened. I clicked my tongue against my teeth and nudged old Maizie with my heels. She shot forward, nearly toppling me from my perch.

She galloped right past the entrance to the ring, and I began to fear we'd be in Hanover before she slowed down, but after a minute or two she began to walk more sedately. I managed to pick up the reins and get the horse turned around. The stone farmhouse looked like a dollhouse from where we were.

“Nice and slow, girl. Nice and slow.” Maizie cooperated. I sat high in my saddle wishing Garnet could see me now. The horse seemed to know the way back to the barn without any assistance from me. Shortly, she brought me up to the back of one of the long block buildings I'd noticed earlier. There was a row of metal cages, and inside the cages were dozens of barking dogs. The breeding kennel! As Maizie carried me past, I saw these dogs were living in doggie paradise. Well-groomed dogs in clean cages. So different from what I'd seen at the Amish farm. There were Labs, some adorable beagles and golden retrievers, all the different kinds of outdoorsy dogs one would expect to find at an elegant farm like this.

Maizie took me back to the barn, where the other guests were already mounted and ready to go.

“Where did Maizie take you?” Charlotte asked.

“Just around that building,” I said, pointing to the kennel and not mentioning Maize had taken me on a fifty-mile detour. “Your dogs look very well cared for.”

“I told you not to go back there.”

“I didn't have any choice.” I patted Maizie between her ears.

“Let's go, we're holding up the others.”

I followed her quietly. I think I'd expected the hunting scene from the Albert Finney version of Tom Jones, with dogs chasing foxes and horns blaring, but this was not that kind of day. The horses set off across the fields, some galloping, some trotting, and some, like mine, walking sedately. Charlotte stayed next to me, as if she feared I'd fall off, which was a distinct possibility.

“Now we're crossing into the national park,” she pointed out as we came to a low wall built of heaped gray stones. “We're supposed to stay on the marked trails.” She pointed to a small brown-and-white picture of a horseback rider. “Don't go off alone. People frequently get lost here.”

She led the way, talking to me over her shoulder, pointing out things I never would have noticed if I'd been alone. “The stone walls were here before the battle, built with rocks the farmers cleared from their fields. Just imagine what it must have looked like here, with thousands of young men crouched behind these walls, firing at other young men just a few hundred yards away. We're in Pitzer's Wood, where General Longstreet had his troops on July second. There's an observation tower up ahead if you'd like to climb up and take a look at the area.”