The Secrets Of Mead

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The Secrets Of Mead Page 6

by Michaela James


  “I appreciate your insight,” Craig said. “I’m not after a clinical assessment. You’ve been most helpful and thank you for giving me your time.”

  “No trouble at all. You might want to stop by the English Rose. My sister-in-law, Grace, knows everything there is to know about the residents of Mead.”

  25

  Mead News and Food

  “Honestly, Mum, my kitchen’s well stocked, but thank you.”

  “Take some mac and cheese for the kids,” Carol insisted.

  Smiling as her mother forced three small boxes into her handbag, Janet said, “I heard about Doctor Ryland.”

  Carol began straightening packets of whole grain rice. “Our new detective believes it was murder.”

  “Do you?” Janet asked, brows raised.

  “I saw him every Friday after work. Always purchased the same items. Chicken breasts, curry sauce, and naan bread.”

  Janet laughed. “I presume he bought other stuff too.”

  “Mondays at five. Got all his staples on Mondays.”

  “You haven’t answered my question,” Janet reminded her mother.

  Now reorganizing jars of pickled beets, Carol said, “Yes, I think someone killed Jude.”

  “But who would do that?”

  “Ruth from the post office thinks it was some random thug passing through Mead. But according to young David, nothing was taken. Jude’s wallet was right there in the hallway.”

  “How strange. It’s been a while since I saw the man, but I do remember he was very handsome.”

  “Oh yes,” Carol agreed. “But shy too.”

  “Did he have a girlfriend?” Janet enquired.

  “Most definitely. Rachel was one of them.”

  “No!” Janet exclaimed. “The sweet girl who watches Sally and Theo for us?”

  Walking back to the cash register, Carol replied, “The very same.”

  “I don’t believe it. She’s far too young.”

  “I’m sure that’s why they kept it secret.”

  “A secret she shared with you?” Janet asked.

  “It was your Theo who gave them away.”

  “How?”

  “You were maybe half an hour from finishing work. I locked up the shop and thanked Rachel for looking after the littles. The kids and I were almost home when I remembered I hadn’t paid Rachel for her time. Theo says, don’t worry Gran, we can find her at the stables. I wasn’t aware she rode but thought it would be a fun outing for Theo and Sally. We get to the stables, and there are horses in stalls but not a human in sight. As Sally’s petting Syd’s mare, I hear whispered voices. Low and behold in the furthest most paddock, I spy Jude and Rachel.”

  Hand to her throat, Janet asked, “What were they doing?”

  Carol smiled at her daughter’s shocked expression. “Just talking, but it seemed a very deep, private type of conversation.”

  “Wow!” Janet returned.

  “You asked who would kill Jude Ryland. I suspect it was Norman Bell.”

  “The Coroner,” Janet replied. “Why would he kill Jude?”

  “Rachel is his daughter.”

  “Why didn’t I know that?” Janet asked.

  “Because you left for Uni and haven’t lived in Mead since.”

  “You think Norman was furious about the age gap?”

  “I imagine so. And the fact there were other women involved with Jude.”

  “Do I know the other women?”

  Carol pulled a face. “You know Cynthia.”

  “I thought she was married to that sexy new mayor?”

  “She was, but the marriage didn’t last long,” Carol explained. “I saw her with a couple of young fellas in the pub when she and Mark split. Soon after that, the word around Mead was she’d hooked up with Jude Ryland.”

  “So, Jude was seeing Rachel and Cynthia?”

  “And Syd,” Carol replied with a grimace.

  “Who’s Syd?”

  “Sydney. She’s a maternity nurse. Beautiful girl.”

  Janet exhaled. “And to think I left Mead looking for a more exciting life. Do you think the detective shares your thoughts about Norman Bell?”

  “I’ve only met him a couple of times,” Carol replied. “Likes organic products, so I’ll need to put in more orders. We talked about walking paths and dogs. Never got onto the subject of Jude and murder.”

  “I’d be more inclined to look at those three women over Norman Bell,” Janet said.

  “Cynthia’s capable,” Carol agreed.

  Janet frowned. “Cynthia gets a bad rap. That girl’s not as tough as she leads people to believe. I remember she had a breakdown of sorts after her community service.”

  “I didn’t know that,” Carol admitted.

  “Her mum sent her away to live with some aunt in Cornwall. Everyone thought it was because of the graffiti and getting into trouble. The truth was Cynthia had become really depressed. Her mum was really worried.”

  “It was just a little graffiti,” Carol reasoned. “Cynthia had done worse, but I guess never got caught.”

  “Something happened right after that,” Janet said. “I thought once Cynthia left Mead; she’d never come back.”

  “She bought Maude Fellows’ cottage,” Carol informed her daughter. “Maude lives with George at the Vicarage now.”

  “No hanky panky there, I hope,” Janet said with a smile.

  Carol chuckled. “None that I’m aware of.”

  26

  The English Rose

  A high gloss painted fence struggled to contain the rose bushes it bordered. Craig approached the large porch. He imagined, despite tough competition, this could well be the prettiest home in Mead.

  Edward and Grace Clark extended the detective a warm greeting. Motioning towards an elegant tray, Grace asked, “Are you alarmed by how much tea Mead residents consume? It cures all our maladies. It’s a comfort when we’re sad and a distraction when we’re worried.”

  “I hope I haven’t intruded on any of the above afflictions.”

  Grace laughed. “Not at all. Today, tea is simply a wonderful tradition to be enjoyed.”

  Concluding small talk on the beautiful autumn weather, Craig said, “Mike tells me if I have questions about Mead, you’re the couple to ask.”

  “My brother-in-law has been known to exaggerate,” Grace replied with a smile. “But, yes, we’ve lived here many years and have seen a lot of people come and go. You’re primarily interested in Doctor Ryland, I hear. You don’t believe he took his own life.”

  Momentarily taken aback by Grace’s direct approach, Craig replied, “No, I don’t believe he did.”

  “How about you tell us what you’ve learned thus far, and we’ll try to fill in the blanks?” Edward suggested.

  “Sounds perfect. A good doctor, not a good doctor?”

  Edward lifted a hand in the air. “Maybe a true or false would be quicker to start with.”

  Craig nodded. “Not a good doctor?”

  “False,” Edward replied without hesitation.

  “Sued for malpractice?”

  “True.”

  “Money problems?” Craig continued.

  “Haven’t seen the man’s bank statements,” Edward cautioned. “But my guess is false.”

  “Sad, unhappy, lonely?” Craig enquired.

  “True and false,” Grace replied.

  “Too many women in his life?” Craig asked, eyebrows raised.

  Edward and Grace exchanged a glance, and then both said, “True and false.”

  “In my experience, if a man’s a womanizer, it’s a blatant trait,” Craig reasoned. “In Jude’s case, there’s nothing obvious for me to set my hat at. I’m hearing accusations but finding no evidence. I don’t know Sydney well, but I struggle to believe she’d spend time with a man who had a revolving door to his bedroom.”

  “I believe your instincts are serving you well,” Grace responded. “However, I think you have to look at it from another angle. Jude w
as a handsome man. He was also an accomplished doctor. Can you concede many women were attracted to him?”

  Craig smiled. “I can.”

  “Keep in mind, Detective, Edward and I have never managed to put the pieces together. The following story is partly why we had to answer yes and no to that last question. Six years ago, Jude was forced to take out a restraining order on a young woman. We felt he was close to doing the same with Cynthia just a few months back.”

  “The woman from six years ago. Did you know her?”

  “We didn’t then, but we do now,” Grace replied. “You’ve met her.”

  “You’re killing me Grace, who?”

  “Lady Abbott Rigg.”

  Craig slumped back in his chair.

  “Here’s the interesting part,” Edward said. “It happened before she moved to Mead. She hadn’t even met Lord Abbott Rigg at that time.”

  “Why are there no files on Tracy at the station?”

  Edward drained his teacup. “Check under her maiden name, Paulson.”

  “Do you know what prompted Jude to file the order?” Craig enquired.

  “Afraid not,” Grace admitted. “Edward and I suspect we’re the only ones, other than your predecessor and Jude, who knew of its existence. You’d be hard-pressed to recognize Lady Abbott Rigg as the girl who stayed at the English Rose six years ago. Her appearance is quite altered.”

  “When we attended Tracy’s first garden party, she greeted us as new acquaintances,” Edward began. “We imagined she’d rather we forget her original visit to Mead, so we’ve never mentioned her stay at the Rose.”

  “I wonder how Jude felt about Tracy’s return,” Craig said.

  Grace frowned. “I don’t recall the two ever having a conversation, not in public at least.”

  “An order was never taken out against Cynthia?” Craig enquired.

  “No, though I believe he came close,” Grace replied. “They appeared to have one of those on again off again relationships. Then about a year ago, Jude seemed to go off Cynthia in a big way. They were never what you’d call close. Cynthia attempted to be touchy-feely with him, but I don’t believe the sentiment was ever reciprocated. It was common knowledge she hoped to marry Jude, but even a casual onlooker could see that wasn’t going to happen.”

  Craig gratefully accepted his second cup of tea. “I hear Jude and Sydney were often seen together this last year. A coincidence that Jude goes off Cynthia right around the same time!”

  “He and Syd were barely ever apart,” Grace acknowledged. “There certainly would have been little time left for Cynthia.”

  “What can you tell me about Molly from the Mad Hatter?” Craig asked, suddenly desperate to change the subject.

  “Hard-working, kind and a little eccentric,” Grace informed him.

  Edward smiled. “We hear you asked for her scone recipe.”

  “I did not,” Craig replied, his face coloring.

  Realizing the joke was on him as Grace and Edward almost fell off their chairs laughing, Craig admitted, “They were great scones.”

  “We’re sorry, Craig,” Grace began. ‘She truly did tell us you asked for the recipe, but she accuses every Mead newcomer of the same crime.”

  “Molly didn’t have great things to say about Jude Ryland,” Craig said.

  “She blames him for her son’s disability,” Grace responded.

  “Was it his fault?”

  “No, we don’t believe so. He was young, just starting out. Jude never prescribed anything without the okay from Lloyd. It was a new drug on the market; nobody could have known the outcome. Doctor Atwell’s signature was on the prescription. Lloyd controlled every move Jude made in the early days. The Fellows were naturally devastated to learn their newborn son had health issues. Anti-nausea pills were deemed as the cause and Molly laid accountability at Doctor Ryland’s door. A lawsuit was filed, but it had no grounds. Disappointingly, Lloyd let his young partner shoulder all the blame.”

  About to ask for more details regarding Molly’s child, Craig was interrupted by a ringing doorbell.

  “That’ll be Miss Snell,” Grace said. “She’s Julie Dixon’s sister, here for her nephew’s christening.”

  “We’re not sure,” Edward added with a grin, “whether it’s her choice to stay here, or if Julie’s too busy to have house guests.”

  Apologizing for staying so long, Craig thanked the couple and said he hoped they’d permit him more visits.

  “Anytime,” Edward responded. “As sad as this sounds if we’re not here, we’re at the duck or the shops.”

  Laughing, Craig allowed Grace to see him out of the side door while Edward greeted their paying guest.

  Approaching the gate, Craig heard Grace say, “You may have to go back thirty years to solve this mystery.”

  The detective turned around, but Grace was gone, and the door closed. Left to ponder this statement, he walked back to the station.

  27

  Old Place

  Craig was still grinning with amusement when Cynthia opened her front door.

  Correctly guessing it was due to the moss-covered metal sign atop her gate, Cynthia asked, “You were expecting daisy cottage or tulip house? Most of the homes in Mead are drafty, impractical money pits. If my neighbors want to dress them up with fancy names, I guess that’s their business. This is old, and it’s a place so hence the name.”

  “How was France?” Craig inquired, observing tanned legs beneath multiple tears in Cynthia’s jeans.

  Sitting on the couch, limbs tucked under her, Cynthia replied, “Oh you know, perfect, except for the French.”

  Craig, though uninvited, sat opposite from her. “They probably say the same about England.”

  Cynthia frowned as if she had never imagined such a thing. “What can I help you with, Detective? I presume you want information about Jude.”

  “If you don’t mind, I’d like to start with Mark.”

  Cynthia pulled a face. “He’s not dead too, is he?”

  “No, I believe he’s very much alive.”

  “Why do you want to talk about Mark?” Cynthia asked.

  “Well you still have his last name; I figure you may know him better than most.”

  “Holy cow,” Cynthia exclaimed, pulling her legs even tighter beneath her, “you think he killed Jude.”

  “I have no such thoughts. I’m interested in all Mead’s residents at this time.”

  Cynthia scratched her upper arm with long pink fingernails. “I’ll get around to changing my name eventually.”

  “Did you imagine you’d be changing it to Ryland before too long?”

  Wildly flinging both arms in the air, Cynthia asked, “What the hell kinda question is that? Who’s been telling you these lies?”

  “It was a natural question based on the fact you were seeing Doctor Ryland. I’m nobody’s messenger, Cynthia. I ask my own questions.”

  “Messenger or not, you better take a little more time before you decide who’s good and who’s evil in this village, Detective Monroe.”

  Craig leaned forward in his chair. “I assure you, Cynthia; I am light-years away from such segregation.”

  “Mark and I were married for almost a year. It was a rebound marriage for him; he never loved me.”

  “But he was jealous of your relationship with Jude Ryland?”

  Cynthia smiled as if cherishing the memory. “It was quite peculiar. I had a couple of flings right after Mark and I called it quits. They didn’t seem to bother him in the slightest. But Jude, when Mark saw us together, he looked like he was going to implode.”

  Reaching down to stroke a cat that had sauntered into the room, Craig asked, “And you were and still are baffled as to why that was the case?”

  “Yeah.” Curling her lip, Cynthia added, “That’s Nancy. I took her with me when the dear mayor and I split. Not because I wanted her, but because Mark did.”

  With a new understanding of the comments he’d heard regarding Cynthia, C
raig said, “May I ask, were you and Jude still an item when he died?”

  Cynthia laughed. “An item? I don’t even know what that means. Did he love me? No. Did he want to spend time with me? No. Was he as cold and arrogant as Mark? Yes.”

  “Forgive me, but why would you want to be around Jude Ryland if he was indifferent towards you?”

  “Oh, that’s easy,” Cynthia replied casually. “Because it bothered Mark so much.”

  “That wasn’t your initial objective in seeing Jude. But when you became aware of Mark’s jealousy, prolonging the relationship became important to you.”

  Cynthia scrunched up her nose. “If what you just asked is did I enjoy irritating our beloved mayor, then yes. Mark’s the only man I’ve ever loved. I wanted him to hurt like he’d hurt me. I wanted to pay him back for marrying me when he was still in love with his ex-wife.”

  Encouraged by Cynthia’s honesty, Craig asked, “Do you imagine there’s anyone in the village of Mead, who is less than heartbroken by Jude’s death?”

  “Is that your roundabout way of asking if I know who killed him?” Cynthia enquired. “I can give you a list of people who wanted him dead.”

  28

  The Manor House

  “This is a lovely surprise, do come in, and I’ll call for more tea.”

  Craig stepped into Tracy Abbott Rigg’s ostentatious drawing room. He only knew it was a drawing room because he’d been informed that’s where her Lady was taking afternoon tea.

  “That would be lovely, thank you.”

  Slowly walking to the mantle, Tracy rearranged spiral curls in the mirror. Turning back to face Craig, she asked, “To what do I owe this great pleasure, Detective?”

  Craig, about to respond, paused when Tracy addressed her young employee. “Bring us more tea and some of that Victoria sponge.”

  Inviting Craig to sit on a gold and ivory couch, Tracy gently lowered herself onto the matching wingback chair. “My cook makes the best Victoria sponge. I’m sure that awful Molly would debate it, but I assure you mine’s better.”

 

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