Murder at Barclay Meadow

by Wendy Sand Eckel

  “Wilmington.”

  She turned to face me. “I live in a two-year-old house crammed onto about one eighth of an acre of land. If my neighbor coughs I know it and I probably will get his cold. It’s perfectly nice, but it’s got the history of a fart. You really have something here.”

  “It’s just a house.”

  “If you ever think of selling, I know an excellent Realtor.” Her penciled-in eyebrows rose into perfect arches. “You know, houses like these fall into a unique market.”

  “It’s a farm. There are acres and acres of crops out there.”

  “Even better,” she said.

  “You know someone looking for a farm?”

  “God, no. But with all that waterfront…”

  “Yes?”

  “Well…” she said in a honey-thick voice. She shot me a devious smile, peach lipstick glossed her lips. “Haven’t you ever heard of a little thing called subdivision?” She continued to smile, waiting for my reaction. “You and I could become very wealthy women. Just picture it—Barclay Meadow homes. We would keep the original farmhouse and put the rest on big, spacious lots. They would have to be Colonial homes to fit with the whole feel of this place.” She stared out at the river veiled by the heavy rain. “Each house could have its own pier. My God, we could lure all kinds of rich boaters here from Philly, Baltimore, D.C. And Cardigan is such a cute little town. So safe and pretty.”

  I stood next to her and stared out. Not so safe, I thought. Not always so safe. A cool rush of air snuck down my back. I felt as if the dead were trying to communicate with me. Megan? Aunt Charlotte? “How about some lunch,” I said, “before we start bulldozing the soybeans?”

  “All right.” She smiled over at me. “I’m famished.”

  I grilled cheese and tomato sandwiches on slices of my homemade bread and topped them with a pesto mayonnaise. I tossed a mixed greens salad and placed a small mound next to each sandwich.

  “Don’t forget the wine,” she said.

  I popped open a crisp pinot grigio. Rain spattered against the window while we ate.

  Ten minutes laster, Rhonda licked her fingers. There wasn’t a crumb left on her plate. “This is the best sandwich I’ve ever eaten. You should start your own restaurant. I would definitely pay for that sandwich. Those thick slices of bread—I feel healthier just eating that stuff.”

  “Well, it’s loaded with goodies. And I got the tomatoes at the farm stand in town.”

  “Who has tomatoes in January?”

  “He gets his produce as locally as he can. I think these are from South Carolina. It’s all part of the green movement—you know, the more local food you eat, the fewer emissions from trucking. Tyler and I are growing organic grains and…” I stopped. Rhonda was frowning. “Too much information?”

  “Honey, I drive a Range Rover. My carbon footprint is more like a boot print.”

  I gathered our plates and carried them to the sink. After pouring coffee, I set a small plate of chocolate muffins on the table. Rhonda was gazing out at the river. I sat down again and tucked my legs beneath me.

  She checked her bangs, ignored the coffee, and poured herself another glass of wine. “I hope you don’t mind,” she said. “I never used to drink during the day, but lately my nerves are jumping.” She took a long sip, set her glass down, and eyed me. “So, Rosalie, are you still looking into Megan’s death?”

  I hesitated. “A little.”

  “Why? Megan is dead.” She crossed her arms. “I told Bill about you.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I said I’d met someone who thinks Megan was murdered and was looking into a bit.” She shrugged.

  “What was his reaction?”

  “He was livid.”

  “So, why did you tell him?”

  “That’s my business. But the bottom line is this: Megan was distraught about having to leave Delaware and being stalked by a bunch of creepy guys. She committed suicide. As sad as that may be, it’s reality. Everybody knows it but you. And you nosing around just stirs up all that pain.”

  I wrapped my hands around my coffee mug. “Don’t you think telling him about me might have stirred up some pain?”

  “Of course. Which is why you need to stop.”

  “But how do they know it was a suicide? Was there a note?”

  Rhonda rolled her eyes. “There you go again.”

  “But Rhonda … what if we figured out it wasn’t a suicide. Wouldn’t her father want to know?”

  “We?”

  “Did I say ‘we’? That was silly.” I smiled sheepishly.

  “Who else knows what you’re doing?” She crossed her arms and flattened her back again the chair.

  “Just you. And now Bill.” I held my eyes steady with hers.

  “I’m trying to tell you as nicely as I can, Rosalie, you need to stop.” She shot me a stern look, one eyebrow a little higher than the other. “No more of this foolishness. Okay?”

  “I would never want to hurt anyone.”

  “Good. Case closed.” Rhonda puffed out some air, causing her carefully sprayed bangs to lift and fall. “Bill needs to get on with his life.” She filled my wineglass, knocked hers against it, and drank the rest in one swallow. She slapped the glass back on the table and scrutinized my face. “Technically he could sue you.”

  I stared back. “I didn’t realize you and Bill were such close friends.”

  She clicked her fingernails on the table. “Can I tell you something?”

  “Of course.”

  “Bill and I? We had an affair. It lasted almost six years. It’s why my marriage ended.”

  “Does Corinne know?”

  She shrugged. “I sure didn’t tell her.”

  “Why did it stop?” I said, trying to subdue my urgency to hear more.

  More fingernail clicking. “I never really figured it out. He just ended it. I was heartbroken. I was hoping we would both leave our spouses and be together. He used to say that’s what would happen. But when our girls hit high school he got very distracted. He broke dates and there were a few no-shows. But now, lately, he’s been reaching out to me again. Ever since I told him about you.” She looked over at me, a puzzled look on her face. “I have no idea why I’m telling you this.”

  “I’m glad you feel you can trust me.” I smiled.

  “Is that why?” She frowned. “Doesn’t sound like me. Sometimes you look at me with those big brown eyes of yours and I start blabbing. How do you do that?”

  “I just listen, is all.” I started to fill her glass, but she covered it with her hand. “No. I think that’s why I told you. The vino. It’s the great truth serum.” She stood. “Well, girlfriend, this has been delish, but I should head home before it gets dark.” She glanced out the window. “Everything is one deadly shade of gray today, isn’t it? I sure hope this rain doesn’t freeze.”

  Tyler burst into the front door, rain dripping from a dark green poncho. He pulled it over his head and stomped his boots. He stopped abruptly when he saw Rhonda. “Oops,” he said.

  “No worries,” I said. “Coffee?”

  “I’m out of WD-40. I think there’s another can in here.” He pulled open a drawer. His sandy hair tumbled onto his forehead. His muscles were outlined through his thermal shirt. After rifling through the drawer, he picked up a blue-and-yellow canister. “That old table saw is a real bugger.” He bumped the drawer closed with his hip, nodded to Rhonda, and walked back outside.

  Rhonda’s mouth hung open. “And who, my dear, was that?”

  “My handyman.”

  “You have a handyman?” She grinned mischievously. “And what exactly is he handy at doing?”

  I cocked my head. “Everything.”

  “How nice for you. I’ve always wanted a pool boy in a tight little Speedo. Funny thing about that is I don’t have a pool.” Rhonda picked up her purse and headed for the door. Before she left, she turned to look at me. She made a motion as if she were zipping her lips. “Let’
s make a deal. Between friends? I’ll keep your hot handyman a secret if you don’t tell anyone about my confession.”

  “Of course, Rhonda. It’s not my secret to tell.”

  “Exactly. Besides, who would you tell? You’re out here in the middle of nowhere rattling around in an old house. And I’m glad you agreed to stop all this detective nonsense. It’s time, isn’t it?”

  “What can I say?” I said. “As usual, you are much wiser about these things than me.”

  * * *

  After spending most of the day cooking for and entertaining Rhonda, I was anxious to check on Annie. I opened my computer and typed in my password. I was glad the What Ifs were scheduled to chat. Rhonda telling Bill about me was unsettling, to put it mildly. If he was the killer, he won’t be happy to learn that I believe Megan was murdered. I glanced down at my exceptionally warm feet. Dickens. Tyler was still here. At least for now I was safe.

  Annie Hart is in a relationship with Connor O’Malley

  I went to Annie’s profile. She had posted a new photo album. I clicked on the first one and then the next. Photo followed photo of Annie entwined with Connor. It was definitely him—the one from the rugby game. Had I brought them together? How weird was that? I paused at a photo of them in a very physical kiss. I clicked out of her album. Parents aren’t supposed to see this stuff, but Facebook had changed everything.

  Shelby Smith

  I have news. I had coffee with a friend from John Adams who works in admissions. Long story short—she knew which room Megan was in so I managed to meet the roommate.

  Rosalie Hart

  OMG. How?

  Shelby Smith

  I found a photo of this girl in the yearbook, went to the dorm around dinner time, and waited outside. I told her I was an alum and wanted to see my old dorm room. When I said the number she said that was her room and invited me up to see it. So we started to talk and when I asked how she ended up with a single she blurted out the whole story about Megan.

  Tony Ricci

  I’m here. Wow. You’re getting extremely good at this, Suzy Q.

  Shelby Smith

  They only knew each other a short while. But she said Megan was super neat, kept to herself, and was in a relationship she was very secretive about. It wasn’t unusual for her to go out on a Friday night and not come home until Sunday or Monday morning.

  Rosalie Hart

  So that’s why no one reported her missing.

  Glenn B

  Did she say anything about the night Megan died? Was she particularly sad or acting strangely?

  Shelby Smith

  She dressed up and said she was going to a restaurant in Queen Anne’s County. She said she was going to end something once and for all.

  Rosalie Hart

  I knew she didn’t go to that party! Did she say anything about her dad coming down?

  Shelby Smith

  No. But her dad came to their room the day after her body was found and cleaned out all of her stuff.

  Tony Ricci

  He took her stuff? Maybe he wanted her computer. Evidence?

  Glenn B

  As upsetting as all of this is, we have to remain rational. Ok. Queen Anne’s County. That’s significant. Whomever she was meeting didn’t want to be recognized. We have to find out who.

  Tony Ricci

  Hey! I was right about where she went in. I think I know exactly which restaurant it was. It’s part of a marina.

  Glenn B

  Excellent, Tony. And good work, Sue.

  Rosalie Hart

  Rhonda confessed to having an affair with Bill Johnston. She also said they were seeing each other again now that Megan was dead. Oh, she told Bill about my investigation.

  Tony Ricci

  Well that’s not good. Why the heck did she do that?

  Rosalie Hart

  She didn’t say. But she said they both want me to stop. She said Bill was angry. So it could have been any of our suspects: Tim Collier the FB friend, Bill, Nick, or even Rhonda for that matter. She certainly got what she wanted. Sue, any chance you could get onto Bill’s FB page? I’ll bet they have a message conversation going.

  Shelby Smith

  I’ll work on that. This is all good! I was worried the trail was growing cold.

  Tony Ricci

  So if Megan went out to dinner with the killer, maybe we should show her picture around that restaurant. She was a real knockout. She would stand out.

  Rosalie Hart

  Great idea. Sue, did the roommate say anything about Nick?

  Shelby Smith

  She said a lot of girls have a crush on him. Oh, and he shows dirty movies in class.

  Tony Ricci

  Dirty movies????

  Rosalie Hart

  I saw it in his syllabus. It’s in order to eliminate prejudice and desensitize inhibitions.

  Tony Ricci

  Ain’t that a bunch of crappola.

  Rosalie Hart

  Maybe I should enroll after all. It would help the investigation.

  Tony Ricci

  Yeah, right. Take one for the team, there, Princess.

  THIRTY

  Janice Tilghman

  Girls night out, Rose Red! We’re going to Joey’s. Pick u up at 7 sat. Dress is cas. Won’t take no for an answer.

  I laughed when I read the last sentence. It wasn’t really necessary.

  I buckled my seat belt in the back of Janice’s SUV. While getting ready I had originally slipped on my sensible boots and a pullover sweater. There was a sixty percent chance of a light snowfall. I looked in the mirror and changed my mind. This was Janice. She never missed an opportunity to step out in the latest fashion. So I kicked off the comfort and pulled on my nicest jeans, slipped into Annie’s spiky heels, and the red cashmere sweater my brother Oliver sent me for Christmas.

  Dede Morgan sat sideways in the front seat. “How do you like living in Barclay Meadow?” she said. “I’ve always loved that house.”

  “I’m adjusting,” I said.

  “So,” Dede said brightly, “you’re divorced?”

  “Soon to be.”

  “We’ll have to keep our eye out, then,” Dede said to Janice. “We don’t need another hot single chick around. I swear, the men in this town are about as monogamous as a rooster.”

  “Rose Red had it done to her,” Janice said. “She won’t be returning the favor anytime soon.”

  “Ah.” Dede gave me a sympathetic smile.

  “How do they get away with it?” I said. “I mean, Doris Bird would know two minutes after the guy rolled out of bed.”

  The car filled with laughter. I caught Janice’s eye in the mirror. She winked.

  “Janice said Tyler Wells is farming your land,” Dede said. “Now, talk about hot.”

  “You think Tyler’s hot?”

  “Uh, yeah,” she said. “I had the hugest crush on him in high school. I prayed he would ask me to prom. He ended up going with Janice.”

  “You never told me that, Janice.”

  “You never asked.” Janice gripped the headrest and attempted to parallel park her SUV.

  “What was he like in high school?” I leaned against the door to allow Janice a better view.

  “He was quiet. Mysterious,” Dede said as she refreshed her lipstick. “He was always reading and yet he was really good at sports. He’s still got that tight butt. I saw him the other day at the hardware store.”

  “Every time I see him there’s a book or a pair of gloves in his back pocket,” I said as we climbed down from the truck. “I guess I never noticed his butt.”

  “Are you serious?” Dede said.

  “Well, maybe once or twice.”

  “That’s more like it,” Dede said. She surveyed Janice’s parking job. “That car in front of you will never get out.”

  “Too bad for them.” Janice hit the remote lock. The headlights flashed. “I can’t walk very far in these heels.”

  Joey’s was named after the owne
r and bartender: Josephine. It seemed to be a theme in Caridgan: Birdie’s, Joey’s. When we first walked in I was disappointed. It was nothing more than a long, narrow bar with loud conversations and not much room to walk, let alone sit. But Janice strode past the bar and through an archway. We followed her into a large, candlelit room filled with groupings of upholstered chairs and a roaring fireplace.

  Janice charged over to a circle of mismatched upholstered chairs close to the fire.

  “Best table in the house,” Dede said as we slipped out of our coats and settled into the comfortable seats. “How do you do it? You always get the best parking place, the best table. It’s crazy.”

  “Joey knew I was coming.” Janice unwound an exceptionally long wool scarf from her neck. “’Nuf said.”

  A waitress approached and we ordered drinks. She set a small bowl of mixed nuts on the table and Janice immediately scooped up a handful. “Hey, Dede,” Janice said as she chewed. “Did you see Susie Clark all over Jack Peyton at the end of the bar?”

  “That Jezebel.” Dede turned to me. “Jack has three kids and while his wife was popping out the third, he was bopping Susie. His secretary! I mean, how cliché is that?”

  I laughed—amazed how this town operated. Everyone knew everything about everyone, but they seemed to take it in stride. It was like the bumper sticker on most of the pickup trucks: SHIT HAPPENS. Maybe I should try and adopt their attitude. Our waitress set our drinks down. I took a long sip from my cosmopolitan. It felt good to be out.

  A loud strum vibrated the microphone. I looked over at the stage. Three men were syncing their guitars.

  “These guys are really good,” Janice said.

  “What’s Trevor doing tonight?” I asked.

  “He was out with the deer hunters at four this morning. He’s probably already snoring.”

  “Are you married, Dede?” I said.

  “Oh, yeah. Right out of college. Everyone knew Petey and I would get married. We started dating in high school and even though I went away to college, I came home every weekend to be with him.”