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

by Tracy Donley

  “And judging by her recent artwork, she didn’t approve,” said Seth, holding up another clipping of the mayor, this time with a ridiculous mustache and a monocle drawn onto his face.

  Rosemary couldn’t keep herself from laughing out loud.

  “And then there’s this,” said Seth.

  He held out his cell phone, and Rosemary took it.

  “Birds-foot, Lotus corniculatus . . . means revenge.” Rosemary took a few steps backward and let out a long sigh.

  Seth’s cell phone buzzed in Rosemary’s hand and she automatically looked at it.

  “Oh no,” she said, handing it back to Seth.

  The text had come from George. Detective Weaser was back at the station after meeting with Becky Thatcher, who had presented him with a recent note she’d received at the mayor’s office—a threatening letter written by none other than Ingrid Clark.

  “The evidence is piling up against Ingrid,” said Seth.

  “There has to be some mistake,” said Rosemary.

  “Rosemary, I like Ingrid, too. She’s a character. I don’t want her to be guilty. But this,” he said, holding up the file, “is just plain weird. Add to that a rock through the mayor’s window and a threatening letter? It’s not looking good for Ingrid.”

  “I just don’t think she did it. I’ll admit—and she would too—that she didn’t like Sam.”

  “Didn’t like him? She clearly despised the guy.”

  “But I know she didn’t kill him.”

  Seth’s cell phone buzzed, and he glanced at it.

  “Oh boy. It’s George. Weaser’s on his way over. Find that painting!”

  22

  Twenty minutes later, Seth and Rosemary were back at the farm, sitting around the table with Jack and Charlie, Mercy’s diary laid out in front of them. They’d found it exactly where Ingrid had said it would be, in a small cabinet which was hidden behind a painting of the Witch’s Meadow. Rosemary had smiled when she’d noticed that the little brass plate beneath the painting simply read, The Meadow, and she wondered if Ingrid was the artist. There was no signature on the piece, but then, Ingrid didn’t seem the type to care whether anyone knew of her accomplishments. She was most definitely a person who lived her life with little concern for what people thought of her.

  Rosemary had grabbed the diary, Seth had tucked the file of articles under his arm and closed the desk drawer, and they’d locked the front door, leaving the key under the pot of bird’s-foot. As they drove away, just as they’d turned off by the meadow, in his rearview mirror Seth could see Weaser rounding the opposite corner. Their escape had been far too narrow for comfort.

  “Before we look at this, I have to tell you about Sam’s fiancée, Victoria Winthrop,” said Jack. “I happened to run into her after you two left the churchyard.”

  “You ran into her?” asked Rosemary, skeptical. “Probably more like curiosity got the better of you, and you made a point of running into her.”

  “Well, was it my fault she showed up at the church?” asked Jack.

  “Seriously?” asked Seth. “Why would she be there?”

  “Because of course that’s where Sam’s memorial is going to be held. She was there meeting with Reverend Bob. They were talking about the order of the service, and let me tell you, I got an earful.”

  “You eavesdropped on a bereaved person?” asked Charlie.

  “Eavesdrop is a funny word. I was adjusting a few of the lanterns outside the church in the cemetery. The church window just happened to be opened a crack, so I could hear what they were saying, and then they came outside to the Wright family plot where, I assume, Sam will be laid to rest.”

  “Oh, my gosh,” said Charlie. “I still can’t get over the idea that Sam is gone.”

  “Well, Miss Victoria Winthrop is over it,” said Jack.

  “What makes you think that?” asked Rosemary.

  “Well, for starters, she asked how long the service would take on Thursday,” said Jack, raising a critical brow.

  “That seems like it could be a relevant question,” said Seth.

  “She said she had a massage appointment she had to get to and didn’t want to be late.”

  “Well . . . that is, admittedly, a little cold,” said Rosemary.

  “And then there was the part where Reverend Bob was saying what a sad loss this is, and what a good man Sam was. And she scoffed.”

  “She scoffed?” asked Charlie.

  “Yes! She made that scoffing sound!” said Jack.

  “How rude,” said Charlie.

  “Reverend Bob thought so too, I could tell,” said Jack. “By then, they’d come outside, and I could see everything from the ladder.”

  “You were literally hovering over them!” said Rosemary. “Didn’t they notice?”

  “That Victoria is a piece of work. She looked at me for a split second and dismissed me like I was a servant or something. Probably thought I was the maintenance man.”

  “That lines up perfectly with Mrs. Potter’s impression of Victoria,” said Rosemary.

  “Oh, Mrs. Potter sugar-coated the woman, I assure you!” said Jack. “She’s way worse in person. Nothing even slightly resembling the classy-looking lady we saw with Sam at the café. But I’m just getting to the juicy part. There they were—Victoria and Reverend Bob—looking over the Wright family plot, where Sam was found dead a day ago, no less. I mean, the police tape was just taken down! And Victoria says, ‘Shouldn’t you bury him over there, with that Graves lowlife?’”

  “Get out!” said Rosemary.

  “I’m totally serious. Victoria Winthrop was seething with barely contained rage, and she knew that the Wrights and the Graves are related.”

  “What did Reverend Bob say?” asked Charlie.

  “He didn’t know what to say. He just looked at Victoria, all confused. And then she said, ‘Sam and I did that genealogy thing years ago,’ and that as a ‘rising political star,’ he didn’t want people to know about that particular family connection. That if they did, the press could start digging deeper and find out that the Graves family was notorious—still is notorious—for being a bunch of scumbags. I mean, literal skeletons in their closets. Apparently, the pedigree is extremely important to Ms. Winthrop. The way she talked, she would’ve been stooping to marry Sam, and now that he’s up and died, she’s feeling very inconvenienced by this whole mess.”

  “I can’t believe this. He said he didn’t know his family’s history before the early 1700s when the Wrights moved to Paperwick. That scoundrel!” said Rosemary, immediately feeling a pang of guilt for calling out a dead man.

  “And get this: Victoria said that Sam had aspirations of running for the United States Senate after his next mayoral term, that that was why he wanted to single-handedly put Paperwick—or as she called it, ‘this hick village,’ on the map. Can you believe it? She said Sam had his sights set on the White House down the line.”

  “And she would be the cherry on top,” said Rosemary, shaking her head.

  “This is astounding,” said Seth. “Ingrid might be right.”

  “About what?” asked Charlie.

  “She suspects Victoria killed Sam in a jealous rage because of his flirtations with other women. And then she drew all of these parallels between Sam and Matthew Graves, and said they’d suffered the same fate for the same reasons—that both had been killed because of wanting what they couldn’t have,” said Seth. “She said this diary holds part of the answer, but that we need to prove that it was Judge Graves who murdered Hortence. She thinks that will set Hortence’s troubled spirt free.”

  “If Ingrid’s family hasn’t been able to do that in all these years, I don’t see how we can,” said Rosemary.

  “Are you kidding?” said Charlie. “You’re all academics and I’m a writer. Research is what we do. The answer might be as plain as day if we can just figure out where to look.”

  “Hold the phone,” said Jack. “Judge Graves had accused Hortence of witchcraft—
I mean, basically the whole town was after her in the panic, but he was the one who made the accusation.”

  “And he was also the one who had the power to condemn her,” added Charlie.

  “But then I don’t understand. Why murder her?” asked Jack. “Why not just pass his judgement and have her executed right out in the open?”

  “That is the question,” said Rosemary, opening the journal and carefully turning the pages. “And of course, Ingrid didn’t say it outright, but I think she implied that Hortence and the very married judge were involved, and that was why he needed to get rid of her. Either to avoid disgrace or because he wanted her land.”

  “Maybe both,” said Jack.

  Rosemary checked the little scrap of paper George had given her back at the police station and found the page she was looking for.

  “Here it is. November 13, 1668. This is where Ingrid said to start reading.”

  “Wow. Look at that handwriting,” Charlie marveled.

  “Can you make this out?” asked Jack.

  “I can,” said Rosemary. “I’ve looked at so many writings from this time period. Early American Puritan English. Not the easiest, but once you get the hang of it, it flows pretty smoothly.” She began scanning the words. “I’m going to paraphrase, okay?”

  “Of course,” said Jack.

  “Mercy says that she and Lilly have arrived safely at her cousin’s house, in Hartford. She is thanking God for their safe passage. She says the baby is fussy, but she thinks it’s because she’s confused as to where her mother is. How will Mercy ever replace her? And will the specter of the accusation follow them forever, like a shadow, like a ghost?”

  Rosemary paused and read further.

  “She is heartbroken at the loss of her sister. Here she says, ‘justice and truth, torn apart.’”

  “Similar to the note from our barn!” said Jack. “Is it some kind of code?”

  “And Ingrid also said something just like that today at the police station,” said Seth. “Almost the same words.”

  “Here, Mercy is saying Hortence was so beautiful, so bold . . . She says it’s not that shocking that Matthew fell in love with her. And Mercy can also understand how Hortence, who’d been so lonely in her marriage to Jonathan Gallow, had fallen under Matthew’s spell. ”

  At this, Rosemary looked up with wide eyes. Jack’s jaw dropped. Charlie put a hand to his forehead. And Seth fell back in his chair.

  “So Hortence really was having a full-blown affair with the judge,” said Jack.

  “Mercy talks about the price of Hortence’s beauty and spirit. And—oh my gosh.”

  “What? Go on!” said Jack.

  “She says that it was Matthew who killed Jonathan Gallow. With a knife, in a fight. Jonathan challenged Matthew when he found out that—” Rosemary exhaled as though she’d been punched in the stomach.

  “That what?” all three men said at once.

  “That Lilly was Matthew’s child. Not Jonathan’s.”

  “Whoa,” said Seth. “So, Matthew and Hortence had a baby. Wow.”

  “But if Matthew loved Hortence like Mercy said, why would he accuse her of witchcraft? Or kill her?”

  Rosemary read further and shook her head sadly. “He allowed her to go to jail so that he could rescue her. Here it says that Mercy got there that night—that awful night—to offer prayers and comfort to her sister. She had planned to beg Judge Graves to show leniency at the trial the next morning. But when Mercy arrived at the jail, Matthew was already there. He’d used his key—”

  “Justice holds the only key!” Jack interjected excitedly.

  “Unlocked her cell, took her out, and tried to convince her to run away with him. She refused. He threatened her. Said he’d lock her back up and she’d face the noose. She told him he couldn’t kill the mother of his child, confirming to him that Lilly was his, and saying that she could not be Jonathan’s. Hortence had been married to Jonathan all those years with no babies, after all. Seems the sisters had long suspected Jonathan couldn’t father children.”

  “So that’s why Jonathan knew she’d had an affair. He couldn’t have children, but his wife was pregnant nonetheless.”

  “Exactly,” said Rosemary, pausing to scan further down the page.

  “Mercy was shocked. She hadn’t known about her sister’s affair until that moment, that night at the jail. But Hortence refused to leave her farm or her patients or her sister. She wanted to stay here and raise her child with Mercy’s help, and she swore she’d never tell a soul that Lilly was Matthew’s baby. In return, she asked Matthew to lift the stigma of his accusation, ‘lest she live in disgrace’ for the rest of her life. Matthew grabbed Hortence by the arm, pulled her to him, and she uttered something in his ear that Mercy couldn’t hear. Then she snatched her arm away, pointed at him, and screamed, ‘I curse you, Matthew Graves!’ and ran off. Mercy stayed hidden and saw Matthew go back inside to his chambers within the jailhouse. She watched her sister disappear into the shadows and the rain, hoping that she would find a safe hiding place. Mercy was still determined to speak to the judge. But just as she was about to come out of hiding and approach him, she saw Elizabeth Graves hurrying up, carrying a basket. From the distance, Elizabeth had seen Hortence running away like a lunatic. So, she ran inside, found her husband, and told him that Hortence had escaped.”

  “Which he took down in his journal, like a good boy,” said Seth. “It all falls into place.”

  “But there’s more,” said Rosemary. “Mercy waited outside, hiding, listening, hoping that she could still speak some reason to the judge—and maybe even use this new information about his affair with her sister as a bargaining chip to plea for Hortence’s safety.”

  “Poor Mercy,” said Charlie. “Outside all alone, in the rain.”

  “She was supposed to be the quiet one,” said Rosemary. “But I suspect she was the smart one, and every bit as brave as Hortence.”

  “So, what happened next?” asked Jack.

  Rosemary read further, turned the page, and read to the end of the passage.

  “She waited there outside until Elizabeth Graves hurried out, upset. She heard the judge tell his wife to go home, that Hortence would eventually return there. Elizabeth walked off in the direction of their home—which was right next to Mercy and Hortence’s farm—this farm. Mercy waited a few minutes longer, trying to formulate what she would say, and finally gathered the courage to approach Judge Graves. She was horrified.”

  “Understandable,” said Seth. “After all, she could easily be accused of witchcraft herself. And the judge would certainly sleep better at night with her out of the way, knowing that there was a decent chance Mercy knew everything.”

  “But when Mercy knocked on his chamber door, there was no answer. She knocked again. Waited. And when she went back out into the rain, she saw that he’d left by the back door, and was galloping off on a horse into the darkness. Not in the direction of home.”

  “Oh, let me guess,” said Jack. “He was going toward the meadow, just like Hortence had.”

  “Yep. Mercy ran in the same direction, on foot. But when she got to the meadow, it was too late. Her sister was dead, her bodice torn, revealing the birthmark on her shoulder blade. No sign of Matthew Graves or anyone else. In a panic, Mercy ran home and started packing. As she writes this, she says she’ll never forgive herself for leaving her sister’s body there in the meadow, but she wanted to protect the baby above all else.”

  “So, Mercy believed the judge killed her sister that night,” said Charlie.

  “Yes. But in a fit of passion. In a twisted effort to control her. Not because he ever really thought she was a witch,” said Rosemary. “He let her sit in that jail cell long enough to frighten her. He was betting that from that awful place, she would see him riding in like a knight, as her savior—as the only one, in fact, who could’ve saved her,” said Rosemary. “And when she refused his terms, he killed her and doomed her memory by casting the shadow
of that bogus confession. Everyone for many years would believe Hortence really was a witch.”

  “Sick,” said Jack. “But it does sound like Graves was ready to leave his wife and the farm and his position to take Hortence and run away.”

  “Sounds like obsession to me,” said Charlie.

  “What was the other date Ingrid said to look for in the journal?” asked Seth.

  “October of the next year,” said Rosemary, carefully turning the pages, wishing she could hurry, but knowing she had to be extremely careful with the old book. “October 11. Here it is.”

  “We have just received the news . . .” she read. Then paused, reading further. “Oh. Matthew Graves is dead. Mercy prays for his soul and for Elizabeth. She says that the townsfolk believe Judge Graves died of the curse as he had feared he would for nearly a year.” Rosemary looked up. “Mercy says that after Hortence’s death, Matthew was haunted. That he spoke often of the curse—blamed it for every malady, every stroke of bad luck that befell him. Until the end, he claimed that Hortence had cursed him from her jail cell before she mysteriously escaped through the locked bars. Mercy says that the worst thing Matthew did to her sister was to turn her into a witch in the eyes of the people of Paperwick. She fears that this is how Hortence will always be remembered, and that their family will never be able to return to the land they loved. She says that the world is better off without Matthew Graves, and that she and Elizabeth both know it wasn’t Hortence’s curse that killed him.”

  “She and Elizabeth?” asked Jack. “Why Elizabeth?”

  “The final thing Mercy says on the matter is that Elizabeth understood what the sisters had taught her very well.” Rosemary smiled. “I have a theory. Elizabeth was a quick study, and took over as midwife after Hortence and Mercy were gone, right? They’d taught her all about herbs and medicines—what to use and what to stay away from. What was healing . . . And what was toxic. Elizabeth was no fool. She had her husband’s number. She could have poisoned him, chalked it up to the curse, and moved on with her life. After all, the only medical record we have of Matthew Graves’ death is the one his wife wrote, in Mercy’s record book.”