by Tracy Donley
The library, like many of the buildings on campus, looked very old and historic from the outside. But when Rosemary pushed open a huge wood and glass door, she found a well-appointed, modern facility inside. The place was full of light thanks to huge windows, and rows of bookshelves were surrounded by comfortable sitting areas, computer kiosks, and study carrels. Small glassed-in meeting rooms and classrooms were scattered here and there, and it enlivened the whole atmosphere to be able to see students leaning over tables sharing ideas, classes being taught, and people huddled up with their noses in books.
Jack had told Rosemary to go to the front desk and ask for Jane Snow, who would be expecting her.
“Hello,” Rosemary said to a pretty, older woman whose silver hair was pulled back into a ponytail. “I’m Rosemary Grey. I’m looking for Ms. Snow.”
“Ah! Hello, Dr. Grey. I am Mrs. Snow, but if you don’t let the kids hear you, you may call me Jane.” She gave a little wink, and Rosemary immediately knew that she and Jane would get along just fine.
“Now,” Jane continued, “I believe you are here to spend some time with the genealogy collection?”
“And any local history you have would be great, too,” said Rosemary, nodding.
“Let’s get you settled in, then,” said Jane, motioning for Rosemary to follow her.
They entered a room at the back of the library which had the word “Genealogy” written in gold lettering on the glass door.
“You’ll find most of what we have on the local families over here in this section,” said Jane, pointing to a couple of shelves along the wall. “And as you can imagine, there’s not a huge amount of material available on the history of this tiny village, but I do have one volume, which I will bring you.”
Jane left Rosemary to browse the shelves and returned shortly with a small hardbound book entitled, Paperwick: A History.
Knowing she couldn’t check books out of the genealogy collection, Rosemary started with family records. Most of them were very dull lists. The Kings were leaders of the church. The Filberts and Andersons were farmers. The Martins had a brewery, which sparked Rosemary’s interest—although she knew from her studies that the idea that Puritans didn’t drink beer and wine was only a popular myth. The Graves family had been into politics, government, and dispensing justice from the beginning. The Potters—much like the modern-day Potters—were into everything from shopkeeping to farming. And the Clarks were also land owners, farmers, and upstanding citizens in general.
Someone other than Rosemary had obviously taken an interest in the Clark family, as their history was marked with an avocado-green sticky note that had been left behind. There were also light pencil underlines on certain passages. Rosemary removed the sticky note and crumpled it up, thinking that people really should be more respectful of library property.
She then opened the Paperwick history book that Jane had brought her. Evidently, the same sticky-note-leaver had handled this book, because the same unusual green sticky notes were stuck here and there. Always in passages that mentioned the Clark family.
Passages about Hortence and Mercy were lightly underlined, and in the section that talked about Hortence being accused of witchcraft, Rosemary found another sticky note—but this one had writing on it: Meadow View = Witch’s Way. Statue in meadow. Celebration on Halloween: inaugurate statue and Witch’s Meadow officially. Alert state tourism board. Ads in Visit Connecticut Magazine?
Someone, it seemed, had plans to capitalize on Hortence Gallow’s tale, and Rosemary wondered who the sticky-note bandit was. She pulled out every one of the notes, and took a peek at the clock on the wall.
Time to meet Jack and Seth.
She approached Jane with the books that had been marked up.
“A few of these have pencil markings in them. Thought I’d call it to your attention, Jane,” said Rosemary.
“Why thank you,” said Jane. “College kids these days. Although,” she glanced at the titles. “There’s only one person who’s picked up these books in ages—other than you, of course.” She shook her head sadly.
“Who would that be?” asked Rosemary, who felt she already knew the answer. “I mean, maybe this person and I can compare notes.”
“Not possible, I’m sorry to say,” said Jane. “It was Mayor Wright.”
The little snack bar on the Paperwick University campus, as it turned out, made the best French fries Rosemary had ever tasted. Hot and crispy out of the fryer, they were seasoned to perfection and were just the right accompaniment to her bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwich.
She’d met Jack and Seth downstairs at Langner Hall, and they’d strolled across campus together through cascades of falling leaves, talking about the morning’s classes and enjoying the sunshine.
They’d stood in line at the snack bar and then taken their food to a quiet picnic table outside.
“So, Rosie, how was your visit with Mrs. P?” asked Jack, unwrapping a cheeseburger.
“Enlightening,” said Rosemary. “The first time I met her, she’d told me that everyone knows everybody in Paperwick. Well, Mrs. Potter knows everything about everybody. And then some.”
“Anything juicy?” asked Jack, wiggling his eyebrows.
“Yep,” said Rosemary. “Get this: The Wrights are related to the Graves.”
“Hold on,” said Seth, setting down his forkful of salad. “Are you serious?”
“The judge, Matthew Graves, had a daughter, named Faith. Faith married into the Wright family when they came here just after the turn of the 18th century. Sam didn’t know this because he wasn’t really interested in the whole genealogy thing. And Mrs. Potter didn’t tell him, because the Graves family has an unsavory history, and she didn’t think this knowledge would do Sam any good—personally or politically. She would’ve explained it all to him if he’d asked, of course . . .”
“But he never did,” said Seth.
“So, the curse—” Jack began.
“Yep. It would seem that Hortence’s curse struck again.”
“But curses aren’t real,” said Jack.
“I don’t think they are either,” said Rosemary. “But I’m not feeling sure of anything right now.”
Seth had to hurry off to his next class, but promised to stop by the churchyard afterward. Jack had sent his afternoon class to do research in the library, so he and Rosemary headed over to the cemetery to work on hanging lanterns in the trees for Friday’s festival.
“So, Sam had been researching the Clarks’ history at the library?” asked Jack as they set up the ladder and moved it into place under a tree.
“It would appear so. And if his notes are any indication, Ingrid was right: He was thinking about the idea of capitalizing on her family’s history.”
“So, Ingrid’s theories might not be as far-fetched as people think.”
“Exactly,” said Rosemary. “These are beautiful, by the way,” she added, taking one of the lanterns out of a packing box and admiring it. “They’re really made to look old.”
“And flip the switch on the bottom,” said Jack, who was climbing a ladder with a length of fishing line in one hand.
Rosemary flipped the switch and the lantern glowed, a little faux flame flickering merrily inside the bubbled glass. “Nice! I can’t wait to see how these look in the dark,” she said.
“And they’re all remote control operated,” said Jack, reaching down so that Rosemary could hand up the lantern. “So, all we do Friday night is press one button, and they’ll all come on.”
“Wonderful.”
“Once we’re done with these, we can line the path with luminarias. And then we’ll bedeck the maple tree in the meadow with a dozen of these lanterns and surround it with extra candles—battery-operated, of course.”
“And what about the costumes? Did you get my notes about what everyone should wear?”
“Yep. Dropped those off at school this morning, and Madame Petit assures me she has everything we need. Our ‘spirits�
�� will get costumed at the university before coming over here on Friday.”
“Madame Petit is . . .”
“Head of the theater arts department, yes,” said Jack.
“It’s all coming together. We can put the finishing touches on the scripts tonight, and do a run-through before showtime.”
“It’s going to be the hit of the festival,” said Jack.
“No doubt about that,” said a voice, coming up behind them.
They turned to see Seth approaching, a big smile on his face as his eyes met Rosemary’s.
“Done with class for today?” asked Rosemary.
“All done,” said Seth. “I’m at your disposal.”
“Great. We’ll keep hanging lanterns, and you start in with the luminarias. Rosie, hand him the ordered list of spirits, so he’ll know how to illuminate the path.”
“Sure thing, boss,” said Rosemary with a grin.
While Jack went on securing a lantern to a low-hanging bough, Rosemary dug in her bag and took out a slip of paper with the list of headstones Seth would need to locate.
“Thanks,” he said, purposely brushing her hand as he took the list.
“You’re welcome,” she smiled. “And the luminarias are in that box over there. Each bag gets a battery-operated candle and a stone from the basket, to weigh it down in case the wind decides to come back. We’ll wait until Friday to arrange the candles in the meadow. Jack’s got everything set to one remote control, and we’ll do a test run with the actors early Friday evening before the event gets underway.”
“Maybe you and I should stop by tonight after dark—you know, to make sure the lights are in working order,” said Seth, a smile in his voice.
“Sounds nice,” said Rosemary. “Romantic, even.”
“If you two are done with your idle chatter, I could use some help moving this ladder,” called Jack.
“Oh! Sorry,” said Rosemary, hurrying over to help him.
The three of them kept at it until the last lantern was hung.
“Not bad,” said Rosemary, standing back and taking in the whole churchyard. “Can we light candles in the church windows, too?”
“That would be a nice touch,” Jack said, nodding.
“Wow, this place looks great!” said Charlie, jogging up. “Good work!”
“Thanks, Sweetie,” said Jack. “Not bad, huh?”
“I would’ve expected nothing less from you three. And good thing the luminarias are weather-proof. We’re due another storm, if you can believe it.”
“Oh no. Tell me you’re kidding,” said Jack. “I checked the forecast! It’s supposed to be clear.”
“By Friday it will be, so don’t worry. There’s a scattering of storms bumping around tonight and tomorrow night, but nothing that would hurt any of this.”
Jack breathed a sigh of relief.
“We’ll keep an eye on things,” he said, then turning to Charlie, asked, “What brings you downtown? I thought you were working all afternoon.”
“Thought you’d want to hear the news,” said Charlie. “They just arrested Ingrid Clark.”
“They say she didn’t go quietly,” said Charlie. “They’d questioned her yesterday. But they must’ve gotten something substantial on her, because they took her in today. They had to handcuff her. It wasn’t pretty, from what I hear.”
“I still don’t think she did it,” said Rosemary.
“I hope she didn’t,” said Jack.
“She’s refusing to say anything. I just talked to George Harris,” said Charlie.
“As in Officer Harris?” asked Rosemary.
“Yep. Ran into him at the market. He was there buying a package of those tiny donuts and a giant cup of coffee—so you know he’s upset.”
“He always eats garbage when he’s upset,” Jack told Rosemary. “So, Ingrid isn’t defending herself at all?”
“Apparently she’s just completely clammed up,” said Charlie. “Won’t speak to Weaser.”
“Can’t blame her for that,” said Jack with a snort.
“Meanwhile, Weaser’s been spouting off, saying he’s got all the evidence he needs to convict. Scaring Ingrid half to death. But George isn’t so sure. In fact, he was pretty shaken up about the whole thing.”
“I knew I liked that George,” said Rosemary. “He’s a good note-taker.”
“Always the professor,” said Jack, giving her a nudge.
“I wonder if Ingrid would talk to me,” said Rosemary.
“Do you think she would?” asked Jack.
“Well, she talked to me yesterday. She knows I agree with her about protecting the meadow. And we were both there—we both saw the mayor and Mr. Thatcher. She was watching them pretty closely. Maybe she knows something she’s hesitant to say.”
Rosemary looked from Jack to Charlie to Seth.
“So, you want to give it a try?” asked Seth.
Rosemary nodded.
“Then I’ll take you down to the police station,” said Seth.
“I need to stop by Jack and Charlie’s first,” said Rosemary. “I have to pick something up.”
20
The Paperwick police station was a small building right next to the courthouse. When Rosemary and Seth arrived, the first officer they saw at the front desk was George, who looked relieved to see them.
“I guess Charlie told you about Ms. Clark,” he said, standing and brushing powdered sugar off his fingers—residue from the tiny donuts, no doubt.
“Yes,” said Rosemary. “Do you think we could speak to her, George?”
George looked around. The office was quiet. A door in the corner with a nameplate that read Detective B. Weaser was closed. One other uniformed officer sat at a desk, engrossed in paperwork in the other corner.
“I think it’s worth a try,” said George. “Come with me.”
He escorted Rosemary and Seth down a short hallway to a sterile-looking little interviewing room—which probably doubled as a sort of employee lounge, because it housed a small refrigerator, a coffee maker, and a vending machine. They took seats at the table.
“I’ll be right back,” said George.
He returned shortly with Ingrid Clark, who was wearing handcuffs and looking frail.
“I’m sorry about the handcuffs, Ms. Clark,” said George. “It’s the only way I could get you out and bring you here. But look, here’s Rosemary and Seth. They want to help you.”
Ingrid took a seat at the table across from Rosemary and Seth, and gave George a nod, as if to tell him she understood.
“I’ll be right over here in the corner,” said George. “If you should need anything.”
“Thank you, George” said Rosemary. “Ms. Clark,” she began. “Ingrid. Can you talk to us about what’s going on?”
Ingrid looked at Rosemary and then Seth.
“Oh, pardon me. This is Dr. Seth McGuire. He’s a professor at the university. Anthropology.”
“Funny. I had him pegged for archaeology,” said Ingrid, giving Seth the once-over.
Rosemary looked at Seth who seemed taken aback.
“I did my undergrad work in archaeology,” he said, amazed. “How did you guess?”
“I have a knack about these things,” said Ingrid. Her eyes shifted to Rosemary. “Give him back his jacket yet?”
“How did you know it was his?” asked Rosemary.
“I know things. We’ll leave it at that.”
“Do you know who killed Sam?”
Ingrid’s lips formed a thin line and her eyes fell.
“Because I don’t think he was the victim by some curse,” Rosemary continued.
Ingrid looked up at Rosemary again. “The curse isn’t magic, you know,” she said.
“It’s not?” asked Rosemary.
“Curses are funny,” said Ingrid. “We bring them on ourselves.”
Rosemary fell back in her chair. Ingrid was right, of course. And maybe she wasn’t as batty as she seemed, either. She was certainly one of the
most fascinating people Rosemary had ever encountered.
“So, tell me, then: How did Samuel Wright curse himself?”
“By being a jackass,” said Ingrid.
“And that got him killed?”
“Yep.”
“Did you kill him?”
“Nope.”
“Then tell me who did. Because Ingrid, you were seen standing over Sam’s body. That doesn’t bode well.”
Ingrid looked down again and shuddered.
“So, you did find him, but you didn’t kill him?” asked Rosemary quietly.
“That is correct,” said Ingrid wearily. “Awhile after I talked to you, I went looking for him. And there he was. I checked his pulse. He was already gone. And then that Becky showed up and screamed and you know the rest. No one believes me.”
“We do,” said Rosemary.
“Is there any real evidence that you killed Sam beyond the fact that you were there right after he died?” asked Seth.
“No. There couldn’t be. Because that’s all that happened.”
“There must be something we can do to get you out of here,” said Rosemary.
“This is what happens when you separate justice from truth,” said Ingrid, reminding Rosemary of Mercy’s words. “And with someone like that Detective Weaser acting in the place of justice . . . Well, he’s not really interested in the facts. He doesn’t seek the truth. He just wants to butter up the right people and make a splash—put away a witch.”
A single tear rolled down Ingrid’s weathered cheek, and Rosemary thought she had never seen anything more heartbreaking—this proud woman who was as tough as a boot, looking so vulnerable.
“I want to show you something,” said Rosemary, opening her bag.
She carefully took out the little box, opened it, and laid Mercy’s note on the table in front of Ingrid.
“Jack found it in the old barn on the Clark farm. It was in this box, sealed with wax.”
Ingrid leaned forward and marveled at the little scrap of paper.
“Just like her journal,” she said, smiling softly.