by Tracy Donley
“You can tell a lot about people by the way they treat the waitstaff at a restaurant.”
“Exactly. I imagine if she’d known Gabby’s family owns the restaurant, that might’ve made at least a small difference.”
Rosemary nodded.
“Gabby got an earful as she was refilling their drinks and such. Seems Victoria wasn’t really interested in living in a little place like Paperwick, but Sam had finally won her over. And then on her first visit to town, he died. Tragic!”
“She must be heartbroken,” said Rosemary, accepting a cup of steaming tea from Mrs. Potter and plunking in a couple of sugar cubes and a dash of cream.
“You’d think,” said Mrs. Potter, offering the plate of cookies.
Rosemary bit into one of the cookies and was momentarily stunned by how delicious it was. The thin white cookies were buttery and tender, and the red jelly filling tasted sweet and tart at once.
“Oh my gosh, Mrs. Potter. What is this filling?”
“Ah! That’s my autumn-olive jelly. The bushes grow wild here. Do you like it?”
“I love it. It’s the perfect balance with these delicate little cookies.”
“Well, help yourself, dear,” said Mrs. Potter, pleased with the compliment.
“But go on, about Victoria,” said Rosemary, getting back on topic. “I’m surprised she didn’t rush over to the crime scene. Did she already leave town?”
Mrs. Potter glanced around and lowered her voice a little. “Apparently she was off getting a manicure when it happened. Or so she claims. I checked with George—Officer Harris, that is—and he filled me in. And now, Victoria’s moved her things out of Sam’s house and is staying at our inn,” said Mrs. Potter. “Seems she felt spooky, being in that house all alone. I’m sure she’ll stay on through the memorial service tomorrow, and then hightail it out of town.”
“Wow. You own an inn, too?”
“Right on the green, just a hop, skip, and a jump from the café. Potter’s Bed and Bakery. The inn is just above the bakery, there on Chestnut Street,” said Mrs. Potter. “Listen, when you’ve been in a town as long as we Potters have been in Paperwick, you drop a lot of hooks into the water.”
“So that was Victoria Jack and Charlie and I saw at the café the other day,” said Rosemary. “We were actually having lunch there when Gabby waited on the happy couple. They looked stunning together.”
“No doubt,” said Mrs. Potter. “But I’m not sure they would’ve been happy.” She looked into her teacup and frowned.
“What do you mean?” asked Rosemary, taking another cookie. “Because of Victoria’s snootiness?”
“It’s more than that. After dating for years, Mayor Wright would’ve known all about that, I feel sure. He must’ve made his peace with it or seen past it. No, this is really just an observation since Sam’s death. I have a knack about people, you know. I’m very intuitive. And the young lady doesn’t seem to me to be . . . well . . . as heartbroken as she should be.”
“Really?”
“She just got engaged, for heaven’s sake. She must’ve been in love, since she said yes and was prepared to pick up her life and move to Paperwick. It just seems to me that she should be more . . .”
“Upset?”
“Yes. Her fiancé—presumably the love of her life—has been murdered, for goodness sake!”
“So, you don’t think it was an accident?”
“Good heavens, no.”
“A minute ago, you said Victoria ‘claimed’ she was off getting a manicure when Sam died. What did you mean by that?”
“It’s not for me to go around accusing people of murder,” said Mrs. Potter, leaning in a bit closer. “But don’t you think it’s suspicious? She comes to town, and Sam dies? I mean, I know the people of Paperwick. If we had a murderer in our midst, I think I’d have at least an inkling. No one knows this Victoria, but going off of what little I’ve seen of her, I can tell you the woman has a seriously bad temper. What if she and Sam had some sort of fight and things got out of hand?”
“I guess it could have been her and Sam I heard arguing in the woods just before he died,” said Rosemary thoughtfully. “I honestly couldn’t make out the voices. I know at least one of them was male. But I can’t be sure about the other.”
“And trust me when I tell you, based on the way Victoria acted when she checked into the Bed and Bakery last night . . . Well, let’s just say I don’t have a high opinion of the woman.”
“And you do have a knack for knowing people,” said Rosemary, beating Mrs. Potter to the words.
“I do indeed!” Mrs. Potter leaned even closer and lowered her voice even more. “The woman was drunk when she checked in last night. I mean falling-down drunk. And she had awful manners. Talked to me like I was her servant. She had me carry her suitcase to her room, for crying out loud! And all the way to the room, she was mumbling about that ‘son of a b-word’ Sam!”
“It definitely sounds like Victoria is more put out than she is devastated,” said Rosemary. “But have they officially ruled Sam’s death a murder yet? I heard that Detective Weaser said it might be an accident—”
“That man is a dud. There’s just no nice way to say it. He’s a dud. Accident, my fanny!”
Just then, one of Mrs. Potter’s twin daughters running came in.
“Mom, we’ve got the corn maze done! Come out and see!”
“Dear, you can see we have company here,” said Mrs. Potter, motioning toward Rosemary. “Slow down for a second and say hello!”
“Oh, hello. Miss Grey, right?” The girl twisted one of her many long, brown curls around her finger and smiled.
“Hello…Abbey?”
“Fooled you! I’m Gabby.”
“Gabby, tell your brother and sister we’ll be right out,” said Mrs. Potter. “That is, if Doctor Grey wouldn’t mind taking a peek at the corn maze.”
“Oops. Dr. Grey, sorry about that,” said Gabby.
“That’s okay. I’d love to see the corn maze.”
They set down their teacups and walked down the orchard path, through a group of Honeycrisp apple trees, and then veered to the right and were soon standing before a huge cornfield. Abbey and a young man who looked to be about twelve years old were installing a large wooden sign which read “Get Lost in Potter’s Corn Maze!” with another, smaller banner tacked onto it that read, “Can you defeat the DRAGON?”
“Dr. Rosemary Grey, you already know Abigail and Gabriella,” Mrs. Potter began.
“Mom!” both girls said at once.
“Alright, alright,” said Mrs. Potter. “Abbey and Gabby, then.” She cleared her throat. “You haven’t met my youngest, Henry.”
“Very nice to meet you, Henry,” said Rosemary, smiling at the freckle-faced boy.
“He’s really Bubba,” said Abbey.
“You should definitely call him Bubba,” said Gabby.
Rosemary looked at the boy and raised an eyebrow.
“Yep, you should definitely call me Bubba,” he said, shrugging his shoulders a little.
“Bubba it is, then,” said Rosemary.
“So, you’ve got the maze all trimmed, then?” asked Mrs. Potter.
“Yep,” said Bubba.
“This is amazing,” said Rosemary, eliciting a little laugh from the children. “It’s huge!”
“Biggest in this county,” said Mrs. Potter. “We used to be the biggest in the state, but then our rivals, Fillpot’s Family Farm, expanded theirs by three yards. Three measly yards! We do still hold the distinction of having the maze with the most options, though. You could spend all day in there! And we have five levels, too.”
“Ours is the best!” said Gabby.
“Levels?” asked Rosemary. “What are levels in a corn maze?”
“Ooh, let me tell her!” said Abbey. “So, level one is for the little kids. They use this entrance over here.” She ran over to an opening in the corn maze and pointed. “Level two is for older kids, level three is for teen
agers and grownups who don’t want to spend all day in there.”
“And level four is for crazy people,” said Bubba. “Nobody’s getting out of level four without help.”
“Then what’s level five like?” asked Rosemary.
“Level five is for people who want the ultimate challenge,” said Gabby. “You better pack a lunch if you go in there.”
“This is so cool,” said Rosemary. “Is it open all through the fall?”
“It officially opens this weekend at the Founders Day Festival,” said Mrs. Potter. “And then it stays open all month. After that, we shift into Christmas mode. You’ll have to come back during the holidays for Potters’ Christmas Tree Farm Holiday Fair and Gala!”
“You also grow Christmas trees?” asked Rosemary, who was beginning to think the Potter family knew no bounds.
“Oh, of course!” said Mrs. Potter.
“That way,” said Bubba, pointing to where the orchard path curved even further away and disappeared over a small rise. Sure enough, rows upon rows of evergreens were visible in the distance, growing all the way up the next hill.
“Dad dresses up like Santa,” said Abbey.
“And Mom dresses up like Mrs. Santa,” said Gabby.
“I’m the elf,” said Bubba.
“I’ll definitely come,” said Rosemary, giving Bubba a wink.
“So how do you make a corn maze?” asked Rosemary, looking back at the corn. “Do you plant the corn and then cut the paths into it?”
“Nope. We plan the maze from day one,” said Mrs. Potter. “We actually create our design on a grid, then stake it out with little orange flags, then plant our corn accordingly.”
“I had no idea,” said Rosemary.
“And then we keep it trimmed and neat,” said Abbey.
“This year’s design—if you could view it from the sky—is a huge castle, with turrets and a drawbridge,” said Mrs. Potter.
“And a dragon!” said Bubba.
“And we have a wooden stand, right in the middle, just in case anybody gets lost,” said Abbey.
“Then we can tell them where to go,” added Gabby.
“Wow,” said Rosemary. “I can’t wait to try it out.”
“Why wait?” said Gabby with a giggle. “Mom, you could take Miss—I mean Dr. Grey through level one right now.”
The other two kids made noises of approval, and Mrs. Potter looked at Rosemary and gave her a sort of “might-as-well-do-it” shrug.
So, Mrs. Potter and Rosemary trooped good-naturedly into the maze.
“Mrs. Potter, I have to tell you about what I saw at the cemetery. About how I found Sam’s body,” said Rosemary, pushing aside an ear of corn and looking at the fork in the path ahead of them, wondering which way they’d go. “Because it’s really disturbing, and I don’t know what to make of it. Maybe you can offer some insight.”
“Go on, dear,” Mrs. Potter said, taking the left path while listening intently.
“He was facedown, in his own family’s plot in the graveyard, and on his shoulder . . . Please don’t think I’m crazy. But there was a tear in his shirt, and there was a mark.”
Mrs. Potter’s eyes grew wide and she sucked in her breath and stopped walking. “The witch’s mark?” she gasped.
“Yes.”
“So, the curse strikes again.”
“That’s exactly what Becky Thatcher seemed to think. But why would the curse strike Samuel Wright? I mean, I don’t believe in curses. But even if I did, unless I’ve misunderstood the story of Hortence Gallow, the curse was leveled against the judge’s family. The Graves family.”
“Yes, exactly,” said Mrs. Potter, who was walking again and veering right at the next fork in the path. “Against that Matthew Graves, who accused Hortence of witchcraft and was set to condemn and execute her.”
“But I don’t understand, then.”
“Don’t understand what, dear?”
“The curse was for the Graves family. And from what Seth—Dr. McGuire—told me, the supposed victims of the curse through the years have all been people who were somehow sitting in the judgment seat and were in that family line.”
“That’s correct,” said Mrs. Potter, nodding and pausing at a three-pronged fork and looking a bit puzzled. “Don’t remember this being here,” she muttered, before nodding to herself and confidently setting off down the middle path. “And the curse will not be lifted until Hortence’s killer is identified, proving her innocence and setting her spirit free.”
“So why Samuel Wright, then?” asked Rosemary, feeling exasperated.
“Because as mayor, he was a kind of judge—a city official. And as a descendent of Matthew Graves—”
“Wait. Hold on,” said Rosemary, stopping in her tracks. “Samuel Wright was a descendent of Matthew Graves? How is that possible? The Wrights didn’t even move to Paperwick until the 1700s. Sam told me.”
“Well, it’s a bit of a twisting path, not unlike this one,” said Mrs. Potter, turning back to Rosemary. “But I can show you family tree charts and bloodlines from the founding families. Like I said, we Potters never throw anything away. But let me make it as short and sweet as I can. Matthew Graves died—a suspicious death, and thus he was the first victim of the curse—'round about 1669. A year after Hortence. That left Elizabeth Graves a widow, but she’d had five children by Matthew before his demise. She actually took up midwifery in Hortence and Mercy’s stead after Hortence died and Mercy fled. Did you know?”
“Yes. That part I knew,” answered Rosemary.
“Anyway, Elizabeth’s youngest child was a girl, named Faith. In the early 1700s, Faith Graves married the newly arrived Jed Wright. Their first child—a son—was Elias Wright.”
“Elias Wright was the character Sam was going to play at the cemetery crawl!” said Rosemary. “He thought Elias was the first Wright born in Paperwick.”
“Well, technically, of course, he was.”
“So, Sam is related to the Graves family—and to one of the founding fathers of Paperwick. Why did he not know this?”
“He never seemed interested in digging into his past, and we Potters never talked about that connection because to be honest, I wouldn’t want to tell anyone they were related to that Matthew Graves.”
“But why?”
“He was crooked. And a womanizer. This isn’t something you’d ever find in any history book, mind you. All of those say he was a good man and an important member of society. But we Potters know better. The story has been handed down from generation to generation. There he was, married to poor Elizabeth, and taking mistresses all over town. He made a play for our own dearest Maggie. How’s that for scandalous?”
“Maggie, as in Maggie’s Pride? The apple namesake?”
“The very same. She was a strong, bold, and prideful woman. When I say prideful, I mean in the good way. Confident. Self-assured.”
Rosemary nodded and thought of Hortence, who’d had similar character traits.
“Matthew Graves was handsome. Powerful. Used to getting what he wanted. Anyway, he took a try at Maggie, and she told him where to get off. Then she came home and told her brothers what had happened, and believe me, they made sure it never happened again. But Matthew Graves would’ve compromised our Maggie’s honor without giving it a second thought if he could’ve gotten away with it.”
“And so that’s the bad blood between your family and Sam’s,” said Rosemary, fully understanding at last. “That’s the feud you spoke of the other day.”
“That’s the bad blood,” confirmed Mrs. Potter as they strolled deeper into the maze. “We never brought it up with Samuel because he was a good man, and even the modern-day Graves family’s reputation isn’t the best. It’s not as though he’d want to look up any long-lost cousins if you know what I mean. But like I told you before, it was all water that had passed under the proverbial bridge hundreds of years ago as far as we’re concerned. The Wrights were good folk. And who wants to go around digging up thre
e hundred fifty-year-old skeletons?”
Mrs. Potter stopped walking and shook her head. “And now you can see why Sam’s death was on account of the curse,” she said. “As a Graves in the judgement seat, he couldn’t escape it.”
“Or maybe someone just wanted it to appear that way.”
Mrs. Potter looked at Rosemary thoughtfully for a moment.
“Well, if it’s not the curse, my money is on that horrible Victoria Winthrop,” she said. “But if it is the curse . . . Well, you’re the historian. Use your skills to find out what happened to Hortence Gallow. Break the curse before anyone else falls victim.”
“I still don’t know that I believe in curses, Mrs. Potter, but you have my word. I’ll try.”
“That’s all I can ask, my dear,” said Mrs. Potter with a smile. “Now. Where in tarnation are we? Gabby! This is not level one!”
Giggles could be heard coming from somewhere in the maze.
“I mean it, you three!” Mrs. Potter yelled. “Get us out of here!”
19
Because she and Mrs. Potter had spent so long lost in the corn maze, Rosemary had to say goodbye and be on her way before seeing the Potter family’s burial plot. Mrs. Potter was happy to extend an invitation for Rosemary to return the following week, which Rosemary gladly accepted.
With the top still down on her trusty convertible, Rosemary enjoyed the fresh fall air on the drive to Paperwick University. The leaves were brilliant against a blue sky, and Rosemary slowed down as she drove through town, admiring tree-lined streets and beautiful old homes. She smiled as she passed the old courthouse, Potter’s Café, First Church, and the Bed and Bakery. She was tempted to stop the car and spend some time on the green, where ducks were gliding on the pond and several couples were chatting while walking around the fitness trail that wove its way through the trees.
But a glance at the clock told Rosemary that she only had an hour until she was to meet Jack and Seth for lunch, and she wanted to spend some time at the university library before then. So, she made the turn at the Village Market, where piles of pumpkins and colorful gourds were on offer outside, and drove toward the university. A few minutes later, she was pulling into a visitor’s parking spot near the library.