She opened the window and spotted Mrs. Mayweather in the court below, still watering the plants, though she’d progressed to the other side now, and the sun had followed her there.
“Mrs. Mayweather,” she called out. “Do you have a minute?”
Slowly, the old lady looked up and smiled when she saw Cassy leaning out of the window. “I’ll always have a minute for you, dear.”
Cassy was down in a flash, she feet tapping out a quick rhythm on the metal fire escape that led to the courtyard. Already the fresh air was doing her some good. She breathed in deep, smelling the perfume of Mrs. Mayweather’s garden.
“You seem a little flustered, Cassandra.”
“That would be putting it mildly.”
“Man trouble?”
Cassy stifled a laugh. “If only. Not yet. I’m working on that kind of trouble.”
“Something else then?”
“You remember we were talking about the Newmark case? Well there’s been another death—Mrs. Hamswell.”
Mrs. Mayweather nodded solemnly, casting her eyes to the ground. “She was a nosy old woman, wasn’t she?”
“I think she got a little too nosy this time, and she found something out.”
“The killer?”
“I think so.”
“And you know who it was? The one who killed Bonnie Hamswell and Mrs. Fontaine?”
Not this again. “It’s Miss. I know for your generation it was probably frowned upon to be single so late in life, but things are different now. We can get away with it.” By the stars, Cassy had enough of this kind of casual judgment from her mother when she was alive.
“No dear,” Mrs. Mayweather said, “I’m right. I know that girl. And she’s no Miss, I’ll tell you that.”
This was news to Cassy. She took Mrs. Mayweather by the arm and led her to the bench that ran along the north wall. It was as much for Cassy’s benefit as the older woman’s. “What do you mean? How do you know her?”
“I saw her picture in the Gazette this morning. Little Jane Fontaine. I guess she went back to her maiden name after the split, but I don’t recall there being a divorce.”
The ring. Cassy had thought it odd, but in the morgue Dr. Bloom had removed a single ring from the woman’s body, the only piece of jewelry on her. If you have only one ring, it probably means it's a wedding band. Cassy closed her eyes and cast her thoughts back, feeling once more that creeping chill that comes from being in the presence of death. The ring had been white gold, just like the ring worn by—
“Noyce.”
“That’s right, dear. It was the talk of the town when those two got married, but not half as much when she left. She said she’d outgrown not just him but the town.” This befuddled Mrs. Mayweather more than anything. The thought that Havenholm might not be enough for anyone was almost inconceivable.
“Jane Noyce used to live here,” Cassy mused. “That’s why she was chosen to represent Newmark in this deal. But none of this has anything to do with them. This isn’t about the redevelopment of the town. I’ve been looking in the wrong place all along.”
She hugged Mrs. Mayweather with a suddenness that caught the woman off guard. “Oh my, Cassandra. What’s come over you?”
“I know who did it and how, but more importantly, thanks to you, I now know why.”
“Glad to be of help, dearest!” The old woman winked. She picked up her small watering can and returned to her flowers, muttering to herself.
Chapter Fourteen
The sports car that must have pushed the small-town sheriff’s salary to just beyond its breaking point was parked outside the station, exactly what Cassy had been hoping for. Noyce was in.
Jones was there, too, leaning against the side of the entrance, a hand-rolled cigarette jumping up and down on his lip as he talked into his phone.
He ended the call and extinguished the embers when he saw Cassy coming up the driveway, chauffeured by Dot. After a few spasmodic stutters, the car came to a stop, and out came Cassy, Dot and Patty, who had refused to stay at the shop and be left out of all the fun once again. For the first time since it had opened, the Spicery had closed its doors early.
“Ladies,” Deputy Jones said in a voice so low it was felt more than heard, “can I be of assistance?”
“We’ve come to tell you who killed the Newmark lady,” Dot replied, unable to keep quiet.
“Cassy’s worked everything out,” Patty added. She put an arm round her boss’ shoulders and pulled her in close, displaying her proudly to the deputy.
“Well, this all sounds just great. Sure, it saves me having to do any work. And here we were considering bringing in outside help. I’ll get State Office on the line and tell them to not bother, shall I?” Cassy noted his deep, molasses-thick sarcasm and ignored it.
“Is the sheriff in?”
Jones nodded.
“Then tell him I know who murdered his wife.”
Inside the station things were busier than usual. With only Noyce, three deputies and Marcie on reception, things quickly got out of hand when something big happened. No wonder they were considering bringing someone else in. Although now they didn’t need to.
“Boss?” Jones called out as he led Cassy and her two companions inside. “Where is he, Marcie?”
Marcie, a stony-faced woman who seemed permanently stuck at her desk in the station’s foyer, apparently never going home or going to sleep, answered wearily.
“In his office, with the girl.”
“Can you tell him to come out?” Jones asked.
With a single raised eyebrow, Marcie made Jones cower. Reluctantly, she picked up her handset and dialed the three-digit internal number. Elsewhere a phone rang, then stopped.
“Deputy Jones is at my desk, he wants to talk to you—”
“Alone,” Jones interjected.
“Alone.” There was a pause as Marcie got her reply. She nodded wordlessly then replaced the handset. “He’s coming.”
Cassy looked to Patty, then to Dot to avoid Marcie’s withering gaze. Why she hadn’t been made sheriff was anyone’s guess. She would have prevented half the crimes in town with those fierce green eyes.
Noyce arrived, dressed in his civilian clothes. Cassy saw that he’d left the door to his office ajar. Through the gap, Cassy spotted someone tall, elegant and white moving inside.
“Couldn’t this have waited, Jones?” Noyce said on arrival. Then he noticed Cassy. “What do you want, Mrs. Dean?”
“For the last time, it’s Miss. Not that it really matters. Except that sometimes it can be important, like if it means the difference between having a motive for murder and not.”
“What’s she talking about, Jones?” Noyce asked.
“You’d better listen to her; she told me enough that I think we’d better hear her out.”
Sweat beaded on the sheriff’s forehead. He already knew.
“It’s a sign of deep compassion and love that a man would wear his wedding band long after the relationship has fallen apart. Such devotion is a little sad, too. Hopeless, don’t you think?”
Noyce moved no muscle but looked Cassy right in the eye. She continued.
“I can imagine someone keeping it after a loved one dies, but what does it say about that someone when their spouse is still alive?”
“What are you getting at, Miss Dean?” There was no intonation in Noyce’s voice, just flat monotone that gave nothing away.
It was a calculated risk, one that could easily backfire, but Cassy thought she was doing the right thing. She stepped closer to the sheriff and reached out to take his hand. He clasped his fingers around hers, and in an instant he seemed to collapse in on himself. He fell forward into her arms. Softly, Cassy spoke into his ear.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” she whispered. She felt his chest heave, then deflate. “It was you who refused to grant her a divorce, wasn’t it? But she’d moved on, and even that didn’t keep her close to you.”
“I loved her so
much,” Noyce said, unable to step back from Cassy just yet. His voice was strong. He rubbed the white gold band on his finger. “She was my everything. When I learned she was coming back to town, some dumb little part of me thought that I could win her back after all these years. It sounds so pathetic now, but I was going to bake a cake for her. She used to love things like that, so I thought it would be cute. You know, a stupid, dumb cute thing to do for her.” His words broke for a fraction of a second then became resolute.
“I saw the cake box in your office. That was for Rebecca, wasn’t it? She’s not so easily pleased, is she? Homemade cake not her thing?”
There was no answer.
“When she wants something, she wants the very best version of it. If it’s a cake, or a car, or the man she loves.”
Noyce pulled away. Something was forming behind his eyes, the pieces slotting together to form a terrible whole.
“You bought nutmeg from my store, or rather your card was used to purchase it. So much in fact that we ran out.”
“What does that mean?” Jones asked, his puzzled face switching from person to person seeking an answer.
“In sufficient doses, it can kill. It’s also easily hidden in food…”
“…or drink,” Patty added.
Noyce’s attention turned to his office. He waved weakly at Rebecca, who returned the gesture.
“She’s a jealous woman,” he said, still looking to his office, “because she loves me. I believe that she does. That day Mrs. Hamswell died, I got a call shortly before Marcie got in touch. It was from Rebecca, asking me to pick her up. She wanted to go to the mall. I didn’t think twice about it, even when she told me where she was. I never made the connection until now. When we were investigating Jane’s death—”
Noyce’s face did not falter, but he took a while to talk again. With a deep breath, he began again.
“We interviewed Bonnie Hamswell and… It was a simple slip of the tongue, but you know what Bonnie’s like, nothing escapes her. She got the truth from me that Jane was my wife. Of course, to her this was like treachery. She swore she was going to expose me, saying that I was colluding with Newmark. But I let it slide, I let her have her little fantasy that she was important. But she wouldn’t stop prying and prying. One day she came to my house, and that’s when she and Rebecca had a… I wouldn’t call it a fight, but they did not part on good terms.”
“Bonnie Hamswell figured it all out, didn’t she? She worked out that Rebecca killed Jane.”
For the longest time the room sat in complete silence, though Cassy could feel Patty practically vibrating at her side. Then, without prompting, Noyce strode across the station to his office and closed the door behind him. Shortly after, sobbing was heard, which Cassy took as her cue to leave.
“Come on, girls. Shall we go to Dempsey’s?”
“I hear they do make good cocktails,” Dot remarked.
“Yeah, and there’s a game on tonight!”
“Football?” Jones inquired. Cassy had forgotten about him. “I was promised a date,” he reminded her.
“Don’t you have some work to do?” Cassy asked, worried that Noyce might be abandoned in his hour of need.
“I get the feeling that the boss is going to want to deal with this one himself. How about I meet you ladies later?”
“It’s a date,” Patty and Dot yelled.
“You forgot to buy tuna,” Herzog said when Cassy came through the door. “I checked the fridge, I checked the cupboard, and we’re all out of tuna. We have one pack of cat food and some dry biscuits, but that’s just not going to do it for me. I have certain needs, you know.”
“Can I have a minute, please? Let me hang my coat up, take my shoes off. I’ve had a busy day.”
“I’ll say. It’s nearing midnight, and it’s not even a solstice, so you can’t put it down to witch business. You know you have a shop to open in the morning—oh wait, it is the morning already. I guess what I mean is that you have to open up in a few hours.”
Cassy kicked off her shoes; they hit the wall opposite and fell to the floor. She felt envious of them, it was what she wanted to do. She could collapse right there and then. It was rare for her to go out, much less to do it with a man she had a liking for. So what if she maybe had a couple more drinks than she was planning, and so what if the whole night was spent discussing the Newmark killings (which Cassy realized she now had to rename). And so what if the entire ‘date’ was also spent with two women she spent her entire waking life with. For Cassy, it still counted as a real grown-up night out with an attractive man.
“Don’t worry, I bought you tuna.”
“And mayo?”
“And mayo.”
She mixed up the food and put it in Herzog’s bowl. He devoured it whilst purring loudly.
“Are you coming to bed?” she said, as she shuffled the short distance to her room. She collapsed face first onto the cover and didn’t move until Herzog came bouncing up next to her.
“Come on,” he said, in his smooth way of talking. “Let’s curl up and get some sleep.”
The covers were warm from where the feline had been lying all day. Cassy plumped up a pillow and let the cat snuggle up against her.
“You wouldn’t get jealous if there was someone else in my life, would you?”
Cats do not laugh; they don’t have the vocal capabilities, so the sound Herzog made was more of a strangled growl, but the effect was the same. “I don’t think that we’re going to have to face that problem anytime soon, do you?”
He was probably right, but Cassy would keep trying.
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About the Author
Wendy Meadows is an emerging author of cozy mysteries. She lives in “The Granite State” with her husband, two sons, two cats and lovable Labradoodle.
When she isn’t working on her stories she likes to tend to her flower garden, relax with adult coloring and play video games with her family.
Get in Touch with Wendy
@wmeadowscozy
AuthorWendyMeadows
www.wendymeadows.com
[email protected]
Murder & Spice (Nether Edge Witch Cozy Mystery Book 1) Page 8