Murder at Barclay Meadow

by Wendy Sand Eckel

  “Is anyone coming for me?”

  “Sheriff wants you in here all night.”

  “All night?”

  He shifted his weight. “Can I get you anything else?”

  I looked at him, trying to read his face. Was he being sincere? “I don’t suppose you have any coffee.”

  “Lila made a pot this afternoon.”

  “Never mind,” I said.

  “I can make a new pot.”

  “Really? That would be very sweet of you.”

  He stared down at his extremely large black boots.

  “What is it?” I said.

  “I’m sorry,” he said and looked up again. “I’m sorry you’re in here. You want anything else besides coffee?”

  “Do you have anything to read?”

  A sheepish grin appeared on his face. “We got some Playboys in the john.”

  I shook my head quickly. “No, thank you.”

  “Let me check the ladies’ room. Shari might have left something in there. She moved to Seattle after she got married. She was one of those crunchies. You know, granola types? I don’t really know why she ever became a cop in the first place.”

  “Fix the world’s ills from the inside?”

  “Yeah, maybe. Anyway, she was the last female we had on the force. She might have left a magazine. Or maybe Lila has something in there other than a ginormous can of hair spray.” He smiled. “Anyway, I’ll be right back.”

  I watched him go, touched by his kindness. He even left the cell door open. After a few minutes he returned, the smell of freshly brewing coffee wafted in after him. “Found something.” He handed me a People magazine. Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes were on the cover holding their new baby. “It ain’t exactly breaking news.”

  “It’s better than nothing.” I looked up at him. “Thank you.”

  He nodded. “Coffee should be about done.” He started to leave.

  “Deputy?”

  “You can call me Jason, ma’am.”

  “Jason, what time do you turn the lights out?”

  “Ten.” He hesitated. “Tell you what. Seeing as you are the only one in here, you tell me when you’re ready for me to turn ’em out and that’s when I will. You want ’em on all night, that’s okay by me. And if you need anything, you just holler.” He turned to go, but stopped. “By the way, that’s a nice car you got there, ma’am.”

  “It’s Rosalie. And thanks. It’s fun to zip around in, isn’t it?”

  He tucked his thumbs in his belt. “I didn’t go joy riding. I brought it back here stat, put the top up, and locked it tight.”

  “Wow,” I said. “You’re a good guy, Jason.”

  He walked out and the automatic door clanged shut. I was encaged again. The scent of greasy food permeated the cell. I tossed the magazine onto the end of the bed. My reading glasses were in my purse.

  Plop.

  I looked up at the ceiling. “Okay,” I said aloud. “Message received. I’m done. Kaput. I’ll go home like a good little girl.”

  I took a deep breath and glanced around at the sparse room. I hoped Jason would remember to bring me the coffee. I intended to drink the entire pot. There was no chance in hell I was going to sleep one second in this lair.

  FORTY-FOUR

  I awoke to raised voices. I jumped up and splashed cold water on my face.

  “Enough already, Joe. Get her the hell out of here.”

  Doris?

  “Don’t go getting your shorts in a knot, Doris Bird. What do you care, anyway?”

  The sheriff was back.

  “Enough,” Doris said. “You act like you don’t have to answer to no one.”

  I dried my face, smoothed my hair, and listened closely.

  “I checked the laws you are supposedly upholding,” Doris said. “It’s a bunch of bunk. All those ideas about a commercial kitchen—those laws are liberal for baked goods, particularly in the low volume she was selling.”

  Wow. You go, girl, I thought.

  “I got the state law right here,” she said. “I printed it out on the computer.” I heard a hand smack on paper. “You got no right to keep her here a minute longer.”

  “I was going to let her go this morning. Stop your bellyaching.”

  “What’s happened to you?” Doris’s voice dropped in volume. “You used to be a good man.”

  After a long silence, the door opened. Blinded by the bright light, I shielded my eyes.

  “Seems you finally have someone to bail you out, Hart.”

  “That’s enough, Joe,” Doris shouted from behind him.

  I rubbed my arms and waited for him to unlock the door.

  “This ain’t over, little lady,” he whispered. “You got that?”

  “Yes.” I nodded. “Message received. You don’t have to worry about me anymore. Your work here is done.”

  He frowned. “That for real?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I’m going home. I’ll be out of Cardigan by the beginning of May.”

  When I entered the main office, Doris stood in the middle of the room clutching a handful of papers. She hurried over to me and scooped me into a bear hug. I closed my eyes and breathed in her scent. Tabu. My grandmother’s perfume. Every one of my muscles relaxed as she held me in her arms. It was a mother’s embrace full of love and protection.

  I stepped back. “Thank you, Doris.”

  “You all right?”

  “I am now. How did you know I was here?”

  She smiled that warm smile, her thick glasses askew from the hug. “Lila, of course. She called me first thing this morning.”

  The sheriff shifted his weight. “Who’s selling your shoes while you’re out rescuing the world?”

  Doris looked over at the sheriff with a deep-set frown. “I have the ‘be back in ten minutes’ sign up.”

  “Shouldn’t you be getting back? Somebody might be wanting a Snickers bar.”

  She crossed her arms. “Not without Rosalie.”

  “Calm down, woman. I never said she couldn’t go.”

  I looked back at the sheriff. “Isn’t there some sort of paperwork?”

  He lumbered over to his desk and tapped a stack of papers with his finger. “Sign here.”

  “What am I signing? I refuse to admit I broke the law.”

  “It just says I released you, okay?”

  I walked over to the desk. “I’ll need my glasses. They’re in my purse.”

  The sheriff unlocked a drawer and removed my things. He set an evidence bag on the desk and I fished out my glasses. After slipping them on my nose, I read through the document. “I want a copy of this for my lawyer.”

  “Just sign the damn thing and I’ll give you your copy.”

  Once I had gathered my belongings, Doris wrapped a protective arm around my shoulder and we headed for the door.

  “Hart?” the sheriff said.

  My head fell forward. “Yes?”

  “You remember what you told me back there?”

  I nodded.

  “And?”

  “I meant what I said.”

  When we stepped out into the daylight, I immediately dug through my purse for my sunglasses. It was a gloriously sunny day. I breathed in the fresh, dew-laden air. “Freedom,” I said. “I will never take it for granted again.” I faced Doris. “I can’t thank you enough.”

  “He had no right doing what he did.” She studied me. “So, why did he? Why is he always picking on you?”

  “I’m not really sure.” I shook my head. “Because I’m an outsider?”

  “No. That ain’t it.” She continued to study me. “Does this have anything to do with that girl you found?”

  I avoided Doris’s gaze. “It doesn’t matter now. He has no reason to be concerned about me anymore.”

  She looked down the street toward her store. “I’m going to have a riot on my hands if I stop selling your baked goods.”

  I smiled over at her. “We’ll figure something out.” I patted her back. �
��You’d better go mind the store. You probably have a line outside.”

  She chuckled. “Let ’em wait.”

  I peered up into her kind face. “Why did you help me, Doris?”

  “Because I know a good egg when I know one.” She glanced back at the sheriff’s headquarters. “I swear, someone has eaten that man’s soul and spit it back out.”

  FORTY-FIVE

  “How was your golf game?” I asked Tom Bestman.

  “Three under. Almost had a hole in one on a par three,” he said from behind his very tidy desk. “Missed the hole by this much.” He held his finger and thumb up just inches apart.

  “Why didn’t you call me?”

  “I did. Didn’t you see all the missed calls on your phone?”

  “The sheriff confiscated my phone.” I narrowed my eyes. “You were supposed to call the station.”

  “Problem with that, Rosalie, is you never said where you were.”

  “What?” I stared over at him in disbelief. “I never told you I was in jail?”

  Tom shook his head adamantly. “You just said to call as soon as possible. I thought you wanted to talk about Ed unfreezing your accounts.”

  “I can’t believe I didn’t tell you I’d been arrested.” I shook my head. “I was just so upset.”

  “I’m sorry, Rosalie. But it’s over now.” He wiggled his Cross pen between his fingers. “The sheriff dropped all charges. Even the resisting arrest. Hey, how did he come up with that one, by the way?” Tom smiled.

  “There’s nothing funny about any of this.” I hugged my purse. “How does the sheriff get away with it? It’s as if he can do whatever he wants to whomever he wants.”

  “He hasn’t always been this bad.” Tom frowned. “Something weird is definitely going on with him.”

  “So, everyone ignores it?”

  “It isn’t that simple. In a small town, people go through bad stretches and then they come around. I think everyone is waiting for Joe Wilgus to get his head on straight again.”

  “You don’t know everything he’s done to me.” I glanced out the window. Tom’s full name and title were painted on it in gold letters. I looked back at him. “I feel like I’m in a bad Western.”

  “I straightened it out, okay? Your record is expunged.” He leaned back in his chair. “So the next time you have to fill out a form and it asks if you’ve ever been arrested, you can still check the ‘no’ box.”

  “I don’t suppose you could expunge my memory of Saturday night.”

  “I’m very sorry this happened. And I agree that Joe Wilgus is overstepping his bounds. I don’t like a damn thing he’s doing lately, but I can’t just go in like the calvary and boot him out. His family has lived in Devon County for generations. And ironically, that’s what I love about Cardigan, that people look at you as a real person with flaws and good points, too. It’s not like politics where your career ends because of one slipup.”

  “I see that,” I said. “I really do.” I set my purse on the floor and folded my hands in my lap. “I guess it won’t matter in a few weeks.”

  “Why is that?”

  I avoided his eyes. “I’ve decided to go back to Chevy Chase.”

  “Will you come back?”

  “After Saturday night, I honestly don’t know. That’s why I need the number of the safety deposit box.”

  “I’m sorry.” Tom shook his head. “I thought you would stay. I was so happy when you started to work the land. Barclay Meadow is a treasure. I honestly hoped you would bring it back to life.”

  “I’m really confused. The only thing I know is I want to do right by my daughter. Since the separation…” My head shot up. “Wait, what did you say about Ed earlier?”

  “Your accounts are unlocked—credit card, ATM, savings.”

  “But why now?” I said.

  “I was going to ask you the same question.”

  I thought for a moment. “It’s because I’m doing what he wants—getting a place in Chevy Chase. It was his idea.”

  “Sounds like he wants to get back together.”

  “No, he wants his life to be easier. He’s done a lousy job spending time with Annie since the separation. And when his girlfriend is there, Annie feels like an outsider. Having me nearby will give Annie somewhere to go.”

  “At least you’ll have some cash.” He forced a smile.

  “I don’t want his money.” I fell back into my seat.

  “Don’t say that to him. I plan on getting you a good settlement.”

  “Thank you.” I smiled. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for me.”

  “You look tired, Rosalie.”

  “I’m exhausted. I never thought small-town living would be so stressful. I came here to escape my problems, not create more.”

  “Maybe that’s where you went wrong.” Tom clicked his pen and wrote the number of the safety deposit box on the back of his business card. He slid it across the desk. “Here you go.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me about this before?”

  “She didn’t want you to know right away. She hoped you would fall in love with the farm first.”

  “I haven’t told anyone else about my plans. I dread telling Tyler.” I stared down at the number. “And now I’m letting Charlotte down.”

  Tom leaned back in his char. The taut springs creaked. “You’re going to have to tell Tyler eventually.”

  “I know.”

  “I wish you’d give yourself more time. Cardigan is a great place to live.”

  I gazed over at the framed diplomas on his wall. SUNY, Columbia Law School. “Did you grow up here, Tom?”

  “Not even close. Born and beat up in Brooklyn.”

  “How have you adjusted so well?”

  “It took a while. When Paula and I first moved here, I was always anticipating that edginess in people. You know, primed for a fight. But I never found it. So I relaxed for the first time in my life. What’s better than that?”

  “Maybe I just got off to a rough start.”

  “I’ll give you that. Between the dead girl and the divorce, I don’t think you could be happy anywhere this past year. So maybe give it more time. I mean, I love knowing the people I meet on the street. And I can give my kids a couple of bucks and they can walk by themselves to Birdie’s and get a bag of Swedish fish. How cool is that?” He flashed me a wide grin. “Plus, it’s beautiful here. Have you spent any time on the water? It could change your mind.”

  I thought hard about what he said, about how nice everyone was, people like Doris and Janice. He was right. There was a sense of place here. It was impossible to be anonymous so you had to connect, to engage. I thought of Glenn and the houses that were about to be unfairly razed. He was right to take on this problem. And then I had a brilliant idea. “Tom … if I heard you correctly, you are just as upset as I am with what Joe Wilgus is getting away with.”

  “More or less. But like I said, I think it’s a phase that will pass.”

  “But would you agree there is some serious corruption going on around here?”

  “Where are you headed, Rosalie?”

  “Do you do any work for the college? Or the county commissioners, for that matter?”

  “Why?” he asked warily.

  “Well…” I leaned forward. “Do you?”

  “I have several clients that work for the college, but no, the county commissioners and I just see each other at parties.”

  “Do you ever do any pro bono work?”

  He laughed. “Not if I can help it. You can take a guy out of the city…”

  “What if you could get your name in the Washington Post as someone who has done something wonderful for this town?”

  He set his pen down for the first time since I arrived. “I’m listening.”

  * * *

  When the bank clerk shut the door, I turned the key in door 103 and slid out the long, metal box. It was stuffed with a pack of trifolded papers. I hadn’t expected to find anything of valu
e. My aunt had been buried with her wedding ring and I had already received my grandmother’s and great-grandmother’s jewelry. It was all locked in my own safety deposit box in Chevy Chase for Annie.

  I unfolded the papers. It was the deed to Barclay Meadow. Some of the documents were over one hundred years old. I handled them delicately and was surprised to see a handwritten note to me paper clipped to the top.

  Dearest Rosalie,

  It seems you have decided to sell Barclay Meadow. As much as I hoped you would find a way to keep it in the family, I am sure you have a very good reason to sell it. I hope I have not burdened you in any way. I remember how much you loved it here as a little girl. I remember you growing so tan from your time outdoors your mother would tease that she didn’t recognize you. Remember picking blackberries and then washing them in the sink? They would be so juicy we had to hold napkins under our chins.

  But now you are a mature woman with a lovely family and so Barclay Meadow must go. I have one request, although I know I have probably worn out my welcome when it comes to favors. I hope by now you have met Tyler Wells. His family has been with Barclay Meadow for generations and they are a lovely, hard-working family. I have asked Tom Bestman to try to find a way to sell the farm to him. If this in any way compromises your financial stability, then pretend you never saw this letter. But if there is some way his lease payment could go toward buying the house, then maybe he could make a go of it.

  Thank you for all that you have done. You were the daughter I never had and I loved you more than I ever thought possible.

  Charlotte

  I clutched the papers to my chest. I looked up at the ceiling. “I’m so sorry, Aunt Charlotte.” I put the papers back into the box, slid it back into place, and locked it.

  * * *

  “You were out all night Saturday,” Tyler said from behind me.

  I minimized my computer screen so he wouldn’t see I was looking for apartments. The nutty, rich scent of brewing coffee filled the kitchen. “That smells divine,” I said and walked over to him.

  He stood with his hands on his hips waiting for Mr. Miele to press out a fresh batch of Gold Coast blend. “Things seem to be going well with your new acquaintance,” he said.

  “No. That’s not what I was doing.” I pulled two mugs from the cabinet as the last burst of steam spat out of the coffeemaker. “Tyler, I need to talk to you about something.”