Murder in the Meadow (Rosemary Grey Cozy Mysteries Book 1)

by Tracy Donley

  The detective nodded, looked at the ground with a sigh, and called Harris over.

  “Send someone to locate Becky Thatcher,” he said.

  “Becky Thatcher? Like in The Adventures of Tom Sawyer?”

  “What?” The detective narrowed his eyes at Rosemary.

  “Sorry. I mean, is that who she was?”

  Detective Weaser ignored this question and asked, “Did you see anyone else in the area while you were here?”

  “I saw the mayor and another man. Hold on,” Rosemary frowned and tried to jog her memory. “Mayor Wright said he was meeting with his city manager. That must’ve been who he was with.”

  “Harris!” Weaser called again.

  Officer Harris, who had just dispatched a uniformed woman to find Becky Thatcher came running over.

  “Get me Benedict while you’re at it.”

  “Yes, sir.” Harris hurried off.

  “Benedict?”

  “Benedict Thatcher is our city manager here.”

  “Thatcher. So, this Becky is his…wife? Sister? Cousin?”

  “I’ll ask the questions if you don’t mind, Ms. Grey.” Weaser took out his phone to make a call, but paused and looked back at Rosemary. “Stay here.”

  He stalked off in another direction. Rosemary backed up and leaned against a tree, feeling like this whole morning might be a bizarre dream.

  “Rosie!” Jack came running up, and Rosemary had never been so glad to see another human being in her entire life. “I can’t believe this. I just saw George Harris. He said Sam is dead?”

  Rosemary nodded, feeling her emotional dam break now that her best friend was here. She fell into Jack’s arms and cried.

  “I found him,” she sobbed. “And the mark, Jack. He had the witch’s mark. And that cat was over there.” She waved vaguely in the direction of the maple tree.

  “What cat?”

  “It was lurking, Jack. In the woods. Like it knew. And then there was a scream, and that woman, that Becky Thatcher woman, and blood all over the place.”

  “Becky Thatcher?” Jack pulled back and looked at Rosemary. “She’s the mayor’s secretary.”

  “Then maybe she was at the meeting too.” Rosemary tried to wipe her eyes.

  “Do you mean that Becky Thatcher? Right over there?”

  At that point, the woman from the woods was approaching Detective Weaser. She still looked shaken, but was more composed now. She caught sight of Rosemary, and hurried over.

  “I owe you an apology,” she said, her eyes still red and now swollen from crying. “I shouldn’t have run off like that. I was just so upset. So confused.”

  “I understand. Is your hand okay?”

  Becky looked down at her hand, now bandaged. “Yes, thank you. I feel like such an idiot.”

  By this time, the detective had walked back over, along with Officer Harris, who was still furiously taking notes.

  “What brought you to the meadow earlier today, Mrs. Thatcher?” asked Detective Weaser.

  “I came to bring a message to my husband,” Becky answered. “He and Mayor Wright,” her voice cracked when she said his name. She swallowed hard and went on. “They had a meeting here today. Ben had been working with the mayor on the security project. We got a call at the office from the company that installed the monitors. I came out to bring the message, thinking maybe Ben and I could go out for lunch after . . . after he was done talking to—to Mayor Wright.” Becky looked decidedly pale again.

  “Don’t you worry, Mrs. Thatcher,” said Officer Harris. “We’ll find out who did this.”

  “I already know who did this,” said Becky, her pale face turning red with anger, her voice trembling. “I saw her here. Saw her standing over him.”

  “Hold up, Becky,” said Detective Weaser. “Who did you see?”

  “That horrible Ingrid Clark!” Becky blew her nose, but to no avail as she started sobbing again. “She did it. I know she did. She hated Mayor Wright! She’s a witch, you know. She’s all tangled up with that curse!””

  “Harris!”

  “On it, sir,” said Officer Harris, running off, no doubt to collect Ingrid Clark.

  “Ms. Grey,” Weaser said, turning his gaze back to Rosemary. “Did you happen to see Ingrid Clark here today? An older lady, crazy hair, probably wearing odd clothes . . .”

  Rosemary bit her lower lip. In all of the commotion, she had forgotten to tell the detective about Ingrid being in the meadow.

  “Yes, actually. I did see Ms. Clark.”

  “You spoke to her?”

  “Yes. We were talking about her relative—about Hortence Gallow. I was asking her questions for our research.”

  Rosemary glanced at Jack, who was clearly surprised that she’d talked with Ingrid.

  “So, you had an appointment here, with Ingrid Clark?”

  “No. I had an appointment—a research appointment, that is—with Dr. McGuire, from the university. I talked with him first. Then he left to teach a class. Then after that, I saw the mayor and the man he was meeting with, walking in the woods. Then I saw Ingrid. She was—”

  “Yes, Ms. Grey? What was Ms. Clark doing?”

  “She was watching them. She was over in the woods, watching the mayor and the city manager.”

  “Oh, I’ll just bet she was,” said Detective Weaser under his breath.

  Rosemary couldn’t help feeling she’d betrayed the old woman, but she knew she had to tell the truth.

  “I told you,” cried Becky, grabbing Detective Weaser’s arm. “Ingrid hated Mayor Wright! You know that as well as I do.”

  “But then when Ms. Clark saw me taking pictures, she came over and talked to me,” Rosemary went on. “Detective, I’m sure Ingrid had nothing to do with—”

  “That’ll do, thank you, Ms. Grey,” Weaser said shortly. “Did Ms. Clark explain why she was watching the mayor?”

  “She said someone had to. And that he was going to turn the meadow into a roadside attraction and ruin it. She said—”

  “Ingrid is crazy!” Becky cut in. “I knew that. Everyone knows that. But I never thought she’d go this far.”

  Detective Weaser looked at Becky, then back at Rosemary.

  “Go on, Ms. Grey. What did Ms. Clark say?”

  Rosemary swallowed. “She said ‘I can’t let that happen to my meadow.’”

  13

  The energy at the scene began to settle a bit. The ambulance had come and gone—taking Samuel Wright away. Rosemary felt exhausted, and a glance at her watch told her that although it felt like days since she’d been sitting under the maple tree, talking to Seth, it had only been a few hours.

  “Let’s go to the café,” urged Jack, putting an arm around Rosemary. “We’ll get you some soup. You need to get away from here and eat something.” He took a closer look at her. “And by the looks of you, you could seriously stand to hydrate.”

  Rosemary nodded and turned to Officer Harris, who was standing right beside them. “May I go now, Officer Harris?”

  “I’ll ask the detective,” he answered.

  But the detective’s attention was presently fully focused on a man who was rushing up, a concerned look on his reddened face.

  “Where is she? Get out of my way, please. Becky!” the man called.

  When Becky caught sight of him, she ran into his arms.

  “Ben!”

  Rosemary recognized him as the man she’d seen walking around the meadow with Mayor Wright earlier. He must be Benedict Thatcher, the city manager. He looked the worse for wear since then, his suit rumpled, his shirt untucked, and a sheen of perspiration glazing his forehead.

  “Oh, Ben,” Becky sobbed into his shoulder. “It’s the curse. I just knew this would happen.”

  “What are you talking about, Becky?” her husband said in as soothing a voice as he could muster. “There’s no such thing as curses. Let’s go home and talk about it there. We’ll let Detective Weaser and his team do their job.”

  “But I
saw it, Ben. I saw the mark! And that crazy Ingrid—she was standing there. She’s one of the Clarks, you know. She killed Sam, Ben!”

  “I’m taking you home, Becky,” said Benedict.

  “Hold on there a moment, Mr. Thatcher,” said Weaser. “I don’t want to inconvenience you folks any further, but I have just a few quick questions, and then we can all go.”

  Benedict Thatcher nodded. “Of course. Anything to help.”

  “So sorry about all this,” added Weaser. Rosemary was struck by how polite he sounded. Not at all the short, brusque manner he’d displayed toward her.

  As the detective ushered the Thatchers over to a bench, urged them to sit down, and ordered Officer Harris to run get them some water, it occurred to Rosemary to wonder if the sudden outpouring of hospitality had anything to do with the fact that Mr. Thatcher was the city manager—an important person in Paperwick—and the detective knew the value of staying on his good side.

  “I understand you had a meeting here earlier with the mayor,” he said to Benedict.

  “Yes. We were discussing the security system we’re having installed here. Samuel wants . . .” He looked quickly at the ground and swallowed. “Wanted to get it up and running before any development happens here.”

  “Ms. Grey,” Weaser said, motioning Rosemary over. “Is this the man you saw today with the mayor?”

  “Yes,” said Rosemary with a nod.

  Benedict Thatcher looked at her and frowned. “Do I know you?”

  “No. I was in the meadow this morning.”

  Benedict nodded, still looking a little confused.

  “Mr. Thatcher, about what time did you leave after your meeting here with the mayor?” asked Weaser.

  Benedict looked at his watch and shook his head nervously. “I don’t know, exactly. I guess it had to be around noon. No, it was a little before noon.”

  “So, the mayor was still here when you left?”

  “Yes.”

  “And where, exactly, was the mayor at that time, Mr. Thatcher?” Weaser continued.

  “Please. Call me Ben.”

  This brought a pleased little smile to Weaser’s face.

  “We finished up right over there, sizing up those trees,” Ben continued.

  Rosemary sucked in a breath. Thankfully, she and Jack were standing off to the side, so Jack was the only one who heard.

  “What is it?” he whispered.

  “He’s pointing right to the area where I found Becky,” said Rosemary. “That’s also where most of the blood is. That had to be where Sam was when he was hurt.”

  “But he ended up over in the cemetery?”

  “Yes. You saw where the police marked off the Wright family plot, didn’t you?”

  “Yep.”

  “That’s where I found him.”

  “I still can’t believe he’s gone. And I mean, what happened to him? And how on earth did he get from over there in the meadow to the cemetery? Did he have an accident and then try to go for help? Did someone else move him there?” Jack shivered a little. “This kind of thing doesn’t happen in Paperwick. And did you hear what Becky said about the curse? How bizarre is that?”

  “She must’ve seen the mark,” whispered Rosemary. “She must know the legend of the curse and then saw the mark, just like I did. Oh, Jack. It was just as you described it. A sort of curved shape. Black. On his right shoulder. If I hadn’t seen it myself, I wouldn’t have believed it. I mean, the witch’s mark!”

  “But think about the legend. Even if it were true, and there really were such things as curses, this makes no sense. Samuel Wright isn’t in the Graves family line. And Becky of all people should know that, because she’s an amateur genealogist. She’s even given talks over at the library about how you can trace your ancestry.”

  “I kind of knew that, now that you mention it. Sam told me this morning that he knew almost nothing about his own family history, but that his secretary had been after him to look into it.” Rosemary studied Becky, who was quietly talking to her husband and the detective. “I bet she knows all about Ingrid Clark’s family ties, too. But she doesn’t even realize she’s contradicting herself with these accusations. First, she said she saw Ingrid here, and that she must be the killer. Then she said it was the curse that did Sam in. It can’t be both of those things, can it? I mean, Sam can’t have been murdered by Ingrid and stricken down by some dark magic.”

  “To her they might be one and the same,” said Jack, shrugging one shoulder. “Ingrid is Hortence’s ancestor. And Ingrid couldn’t stand Mayor Wright and has been very outspoken about that. Becky, on the other hand, is one of his staunchest supporters and closest friend. Maybe Becky sees Ingrid as a bit of a witch-cum-cold-blooded-killer. Magic and mortal.”

  “I met Ingrid Clark this morning, Jack. She seems like a bit of a curmudgeon. She’s definitely unusual. But I can’t imagine she’s violent.”

  “Oh, but she is. Or has been, anyway. She once got picked up for throwing a rock through the mayor’s window.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “It’s the truth. About a month ago, after the council met and decided to install that security system. She was furious they didn’t put it to the taxpayers before moving on it. She’d attached a note to the rock, warning Sam to leave the meadow alone. So that’s at least part of the reason Becky is quick to blame Ingrid.”

  “Well, that and I guess the fact that when she found Sam, Ingrid was standing over him—and then ran away.”

  “Ouch. That’s incriminating.”

  Rosemary looked back at Becky Thatcher, who seemed to have finally calmed down. “She doesn’t look like the kind of person who believes in things like curses. I mean, what well-adjusted, intelligent adult believes in curses these days?”

  Officer Harris returned and gave Rosemary the go-ahead to leave. “But don’t leave town or anything, okay?” he said.

  “Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere,” said Rosemary. “Thank you, Officer Harris. You’ve been very kind.”

  “You’re welcome, Ma’am,” he answered.

  “Please. It’s Rosemary.”

  “Rosemary, meet George Harris. George, Rosemary Grey,” said Jack.

  “Nice to meet you, Ma’am—I mean, Rosemary,” said George.

  “I know you’ll get to the bottom of this, George,” said Jack, giving a brief sideways glance at Detective Weaser, who was still engrossed in his discussion with the Thatchers. He lowered his voice. “I don’t have as much faith in Detective Weaser. He’s laying it on pretty thick over there.”

  The detective was still pandering to the Thatchers, and Rosemary caught a snippet of what he was saying, even though he was speaking under his breath.

  “That Clark woman is a nut. You both know it. I know it. She’s been after the mayor for some time. My guess is she did it. That, or we have a freak accident here. Don’t worry, sir,” he said getting up and shaking hands with Benedict Thatcher. “We’ll get this cleared away soon so you and I both can get on with the work of taking care of this town.”

  “George, how did that awful man get to be detective here?” asked Jack.

  “He came to the department on the mayor’s recommendation,” said George, who, Rosemary thought, seemed to be doing a fair job of hiding his own frustration with Weaser’s approach.

  “Wow. What was Sam thinking?” Jack wondered aloud. He shook his head. “Well, I guess we’ll be on our way. Thanks again, George.”

  George smiled and gave them a wave before returning to the detective’s side.

  As they walked from the meadow to the churchyard, Rosemary caught sight of a slight movement in the side of her eye, near the Wright family plot, where she had found Sam.

  “Hold on a second,” she said to Jack, stepping around the headstones for a closer look. “Oh my gosh. Come here!” she said in a loud whisper.

  There, looking contented and calmly staring straight at Rosemary, was the cat she’d seen earlier.

  “Oh
no,” Rosemary said, grabbing Jack’s arm. “It’s that cat. It’s the cat Ingrid talked about. She said it was Hortence’s cat, and she somehow knew that I’d seen it. How could she have known that, Jack?”

  “Ow! You’re clenching!” He loosened Rosemary’s death grip on his arm. “Now. What do you mean, she knew you’d seen it?” asked Jack. Then he turned his attention to the cat. “Awww. Poor little thing.”

  “I don’t know how she knew,” Rosemary whispered, as though she didn’t want the cat to hear. “But when I was talking to Ingrid, she said something like, ‘You saw Hortence’s cat, didn’t you?’ and I had just seen this very cat! Then she talked about how that meant that Hortence’s spirit was ‘on the move,’ like this cat is some kind of harbinger of doom. Jack, she said it meant there would be another death!”

  With one quick movement, Jack stepped forward and scooped up the little creature.

  “Jack! Have you lost your mind? Did you hear what I just said? About the doom and the death? Put that down!”

  “Be quiet! Next thing you know, Weaser will arrest this little one.” Jack smiled at the cat, who seemed to be quite pleased with its current situation. “And we can’t let that happen, can we now?” He tucked the little tortoise shell cat under his arm and began to pick his way out of the churchyard.

  Rosemary stood stunned for a moment, then ran to catch up with Jack. “So, who’ll take on the mayor’s duties, now that he’s gone?” she asked as they made their way to the bricked sidewalk that led around the village green.

  “I assume Benedict Thatcher. City managers do all the work anyway, so he can certainly handle it. Actually, Thatcher made a run for mayor himself a while back. He ran against Sam that first term, believe it or not. I guess it was eight years ago? Of course, that was long before Charlie and I were on the scene, but with the elections coming up later this month, the Paperwick Chronicle did a whole feature about Sam’s years in office—and how he was expected to run unopposed this year. Anyway, the article talked about the election two terms ago. When Ben Thatcher didn’t win, Sam tapped him for the city manager position. He knew he had what it took to do the work and wanted him as his right-hand man. It was kind of written up as an act of benevolence on Sam’s part, but if you ask me, it was a shrewd move. Thatcher has the experience and background for that kind of work. Sam was more of a—rest his soul—a pretty face.”