Murder Among Crows

by B. T. Lord

  “Oh, he hates the damned things. Goes into a conniption every time he spots one. He usually calls me in to kill them.” She lowered her voice. “I never do though. I just put them back outside. As far as I’m concerned, they dispatch the bugs I really hate.”

  “Mara, did you clean Room 12 this morning?”

  “Mmmm. That would be the Merchant of Venice room. No, I didn’t. There was a Do Not Disturb sign on the door.”

  “Did you meet the woman who was staying there?”

  “She’s the one everyone is saying was murdered out in the woods?” Cammie nodded. Mara shook her head in sorrow. “Poor thing. She looked as though she had the weight of the world on her shoulders.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “When you’ve been doing this job as long as I have, you meet all sorts of people. You start to get a feeling about them. Now the woman in Room 12 saw me in the hallway yesterday morning and asked me for an extra pillow. It took her a half hour to finally choose one that made her happy.”

  “Was she rude about it?”

  “Oh no. But she definitely knew what she wanted. All the while we were going through the pillows, I couldn’t help but notice the lines around her mouth and eyes. For some people, those lines are left by a lifetime of laughter. There’s a lightness about them that you can’t miss. But for others, the lines are a mark of deep sorrow and sadness. As though they’ve been hit by a bus and can’t understand why. I sensed that about her.”

  “Did you see her around the inn? Was she with anyone?”

  “I saw her with the woman in Room 11 – the Midsummer’s Night Dream Room – eating breakfast together in the dining room.”

  “Did you happen to see them this morning?”

  “Not this morning, no.”

  “When you did see them together, did everything seem alright between them?”

  Mara thought about it for a moment. “Well, now that you ask, I did overhear a bit of friction between them yesterday afternoon around two o’clock. I was on my way to the utility closet where we keep all the bed linen, towels and such. It’s next to the stairs. I’d just gone inside when I heard them coming up the stairs. The woman from Room 12 was very upset. Her friend was trying to calm her down, but she was having none of it.”

  “Did you hear what they were saying?”

  “Not really. It seemed like such a private conversation, I didn’t want to look as if I was snooping. I got the linens I needed and was on my way back towards their rooms when I saw that her face was red and she was visibly upset. Her friend had her arm around her and was trying to calm her down. As soon as she saw me, she immediately went into her room and closed the door.”

  “Mara, what time do you normally clean the rooms on the first floor?”

  “I start at eight and am usually done by ten.”

  “Did you clean Room 11 this morning?”

  “No. She had a Do Not Disturb sign up on the door.”

  “Thank you, Mara. You’ve been a big help.”

  As Cammie made her way down the stairs to the first floor, she wondered why Meredith had lied to her. She’d stated Poppie was fine, but obviously something had troubled her friend enough that Mara noticed how distressed she was. Was Meredith hiding something? Did she know who or what had upset Poppie and couldn’t, or wouldn’t tell Cammie?

  Was it also possible it was Meredith who defaced the wall in Poppie’s bedroom? Had she somehow managed to get inside Poppie’s room while the woman was out birdwatching?

  Or had she gotten inside after she’d killed Poppie? She could have easily biked to the scene, shot Poppie, then biked back. With the inn filled with guests, it would have been simple for her to slip back inside without being seen.

  There was only one way to find out.

  Reaching Meredith’s room, she saw the same Do Not Disturb sign hanging on the doorknob, but knocked anyway. She heard movement within and a few moments later the door opened.

  “Can’t you see the Do Not—oh, Sheriff, I didn’t know it was you.”

  She looked as though she’d just gotten out of bed. Her hair was disheveled and her face was swollen though whether it was from sorrow or sleep, Cammie couldn’t tell.

  “I’m sorry to bother you, but I needed to ask you something.”

  Meredith saw the forensics people dressed in their white overalls moving along the hallway. A flash of pain crossed her face. “Please, come inside.”

  Cammie entered. The heavy shades were drawn across the windows, throwing the room into semi-darkness. Meredith reached behind the sheriff and clicked on the overhead lamp, sending much needed light throughout the bedroom.

  It was the first time Cammie had been in this particular room. The bedposts were carved with leaves and vines. Sprinkled here and there were little fairie faces peeking out from behind the fronds. Above the bed hung a large painting of the Faerie King Oberon and his consort Titania, surrounded by dozens of illuminated faerie wings. Along the top of the walls, in the same flowing script that had been defaced in Poppie’s room, were quotes from A Midsummer Night’s Dream.

  If Cammie didn’t get out of the inn soon, she’d be speaking in blank verse.

  The bed was unmade and it did appear as if she’d awakened Meredith. There was a small table and chairs in the corner of the room and they sat down there.

  “You’ll have to forgive me, Sheriff. I took a sleeping pill to try and get some rest.”

  “This won’t take long. I just need to know why Poppie was upset yesterday.”

  Meredith blinked a few times as if trying to clear her mind. “Yesterday?” she repeated.

  “Yes. At about two pm to be exact.”

  She passed a hand over her cheek. “I don’t know.”

  “I have an eyewitness who saw you trying to comfort her outside your rooms.”

  She shut her eyes for a moment. “Yes, I know that. What I meant was, I don’t know why she was upset. She wouldn’t tell me.”

  “What led up to it? Did you two have words? Did she get a phone call?”

  “It was nothing like that. All I know is that we went to that restaurant in town – the one that’s run by the man who looks like Santa Claus.”

  “Zee’s Bar and Grille?”

  “Yes, that’s it. We’d heard about its wonderful menu, so we decided to have lunch there. We were having a lovely time when suddenly Poppie announced she had to leave.”

  “What time was this?”

  “We’d been in the woods all morning looking for the crow, so I think it was around 11:30 that we arrived at the restaurant.”

  “And she didn’t tell you why she suddenly wanted to leave?”

  “No. I’d gone to the ladies room. When I returned, she was already on her feet and insisting we leave. She threw money on the table and walked out of the restaurant. We hadn’t even finished our salads. I could see by the look on her face that she was very upset, but she wouldn’t tell me why. I tried to calm her down all the way back to the Inn, but it was no use. She became tight lipped and agitated, but she refused to tell me what was wrong.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me this when I questioned you this morning?”

  Meredith shook her head. “Believe me, Sheriff, it wasn’t done deliberately. I was so upset that my friend had been cold bloodedly murdered that I wasn’t thinking straight.”

  “And you didn’t think the two events might be related?” By the look of horror on Meredith’s face, it was obvious the thought hadn’t occurred to her. “What happened when you and Poppie arrived back at the inn?”

  “She said she was going to rest. She went into her room and I didn’t see her until she knocked on my door at six pm to go to Aubrey’s. He and his wife were having us over for dinner.”

  “What was her demeanor then?”

  “It was as if nothing had happened. She never mentioned it and I thought it best to let it lie.”

  “And she was fine throughout the dinner?”

  “Yes.”


  “Was Poppie in the habit of changing moods so quickly?”

  “As I said to you this morning, she was a very private person.” Meredith looked down at her hands. “I’ve come to believe she was a very lonely woman. Maybe because she always kept people at such arm’s length. Don’t get me wrong. She was friendly, but there always seemed to be a line that she didn’t allow herself to cross. I respected that and never pushed.”

  Cammie withdrew the paper with the quote she’d found in Poppie’s wallet and showed it to Meredith. “Do you know what this is?”

  Meredith looked down at it. “It looks like Poppie’s handwriting.”

  “We found it in her purse.”

  “I’ve never seen it before.”

  “So you have no idea what it would have meant to Poppie?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  Cammie folded the paper and put it back in her pocket. “Do you own a gun?”

  Meredith gasped. “No, I don’t,” she said, the weariness abruptly gone from her voice.

  “Do you know how to use a gun?”

  The woman shivered. “They terrify me. So no, Sheriff. I’ve never shot one nor do I intend to ever shoot one.”

  She stood up. “If you think of anything at all, no matter how trivial, call me.” She took out her business card and left it on the table.

  Closing the door behind her, Cammie paused. She didn’t know what to make of Meredith Quigley. At first sight, she appeared to be a woman who was afraid of life. Whose backbone was made of jelly. A woman who was so tightly wound, she seemed ready to crack at any minute.

  Was all of that true? Or was it an act to deflect suspicion away from herself?

  Yet, if she’d killed Poppie, what was the motive?

  There’s always a trigger. It could lie in wait for years, or for mere minutes. But something triggered the attack on Poppie. Was it something back in Mategwas? Or had something happened in Twin Ponds that started the inescapable road towards death?

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “Do you know this quote?” Cammie asked Tudor when she returned downstairs after seeing Meredith. He glanced at it, then gave her a surprisingly withering look.

  “Is that meant as an insult? Of course I know the quote.”

  “By your reaction, I assume it’s by Shakespeare?”

  He nodded. “The Winter’s Tale to be exact. In fact, that’s the play I’ve chosen for this season. You ought to come and see it.” Before she could ask him what the play was about, his phone rang. “I must take this. I’m expecting a phone call from a booking agent. They’ve got a large group of Aussies who want to book the entire inn next spring.”

  It was late afternoon by the time Cammie drove back to HQ. Along the way, her mind whirled over all the pieces she’d discovered so far that day. Right now, they were still just pieces, waiting to be fitted into the proper slot to explain why Poppie was shot. Unfortunately, it was still too early in the investigation to assemble the final puzzle – more fragments needed to be found. But no matter how many avenues her thoughts took, they always came back to the quote she’d found in Poppie’s handbag. Why had the victim written it down? Did she jot it down when she was able to get reservations at the Shakespeare in the Woods Inn? Had she been planning to see The Winter’s Tale? Shakespeare had a bazillion quotes. Why that particular quote? It must have meant something to her. Cammie would have to look up what the play was about to see if knowing the plot would answer that particular question.

  As she drove past Zee’s, her first impulse was to go inside. It was possible Zee would know what had upset Poppie so much.

  As the center of social life in Twin Ponds, everybody at one time or another stopped off at Zee’s. If he didn’t know what set Poppie off, it was possible someone else had seen something. However, it was the beginning of the dinner rush, the busiest part of the day for him. She’d never be able to get him away long enough to answer her questions. His interview was going to have to wait until tomorrow in the hours after breakfast but before lunch. Besides, it would give her the perfect excuse to order one of his scrumptious omelets with his homemade sourdough bread.

  It was at that point Cammie realized she was starving. She’d been so tied up in the Beresford investigation that she’d neglected to grab something to eat. Unfortunately, she wanted to check in on Rick and Emmy before they left for the day. And her boyfriend Jace Northcott had mentioned grilling some steaks on the barbeque. She was just going to have to suck it up for another two hours before she could stuff her face.

  Then again, there was always that stash of cupcakes and Twinkies Emmy kept in her bottom drawer.

  Elated at the thought of grabbing a chocolate cupcake, Cammie drove down Main Street and pulled into the small parking lot that lay behind HQ. She let herself in the back door and walked past her office into the foyer where Rick and Emmy had their desks. They were both working away at their computers and looked up when they saw her.

  “Hey Cam,” Rick greeted.

  “Why don’t you two come back to my office where we can brief each other?”

  Retracing her steps, she stepped into her office and saw that Emmy had already set up the victim board. In the top middle of the board was a photograph of the dead woman. To her left was a publicity photo of Aubrey that gave Cammie the heebie jeebies. No matter which way she looked at it, he still looked smarmy and full of himself. To the right was a photo of Meredith which, due to its terrible composition, was probably her driver’s license photo that Emmy had been able to track down on the internet.

  She slipped off her jacket and hung it on the back of her chair as Emmy and Rick came in.

  “I’m afraid I couldn’t find anything on Poppie’s daughter,” Emmy spoke first. The twenty-two year old receptionist-dispatcher looked down at her notes. “I looked in several places, but there was nothing on a woman called Hannah Beresford having died on 7/4/2014.”

  Being an accomplished hacker, it didn’t bode well that Emmy had been unable to uncover anything on Hannah.

  “It doesn’t help that Meredith has no idea where Poppie moved to Mategwas from,” Cammie commented. “If her Gucci bag is any indication, it looks as though she came from money. Her daughter could have died anywhere, maybe even Europe or Canada.”

  “I’ll keep looking.”

  “I worked on finding out what I could about Aubrey,” Rick said. “He moved around quite a bit until he hit it big with the first Magic Calico book about five years ago. By that time he’d been living in Mategwas for about a year. From what I could dig up, he left a string of unpaid bills behind before he ended up in the town named for a rabbit.”

  “So that tiny little village named, as you say, for a rabbit is what gave him the inspiration for his crime solving feline?” Cammie asked.

  “It appears so.”

  “Then why isn’t Magic Calico a rabbit? Or a cow?”

  Rick shrugged. “Maybe he owned a cat who likes to chase rabbits. Or cows. Who knows where writers get their inspiration from? I mean, if we’re going down that road, where the heck did Dr. Seuss get his inspiration for the Whos in Whoville, or The Cat in the Hat or the Sneetches?”

  She made a face. “Point taken.”

  “I tried to uncover why he moved to Twin Ponds. All I found was an interview Doug did with Aubrey last month in the Twin Ponds Gazette. It’s big news to have such a famous writer settle here, so Doug pounced on it. Aubrey basically repeated what he told us. That he’d always dreamed of living on a farm and the Jepson place fit his vision of what a farmhouse should look like, blah, blah, blah.”

  Cammie snorted. “Yeah, right. And I’m the world’s greatest cook.”

  Everyone in Clarke County knew Cammie had once tried to cook a meal which resulted in her cabin almost burning to the ground.

  “I’m not finished looking at his financial records, but from what I’ve seen so far, he’s set for life. Actually a couple of lives.”

  “And he deserves it,” Emmy spoke up. “I love Magic
Calico!”

  Cammie turned to the young woman. “You’ve heard of this Magic Calico?”

  “Gosh Sheriff, you’d have to be living under a rock not to have heard of Magic Calico!”

  Rick grinned while Cammie looked embarrassed. To cover her discomfort, she shared what she’d learned so far that day. She then stood up and pinned both the quote and the photograph of Poppie and Hannah up on the victim board.

  “I’ll talk to Zee tomorrow to see if maybe he has a clue what upset Poppie so much that she left her lunch half eaten and hightailed it out of the restaurant.”

  “Had to be something ji-normous to make anyone leave behind one of Zee’s meals. Maybe Dancing Harry was doing one of his poetry readings,” Rick joked. “That would make me run out of there like a bat out of hell. Except I’d take my meal with me.”

  Cammie laughed. “That’s because you hate poetry.”

  Dancing Harry was a shambling old man who worked sweeping up at Zee’s. Many considered him mentally befuddled. At first so did Cammie. Feeling sorry for the eccentric man who spouted poetry at the drop of a hat, she’d gotten him his job at Zee’s and kept a watchful eye on him. To her surprise, she found he could be quite lucid when he wanted to be, sharing deeply philosophical conversations with her whenever she came into Zee’s to grab a bite to eat. It wasn’t until last year however, during the murder investigation of the famous hockey player Eli Kelley, that she’d stumbled upon Dancing Harry’s secret.

  Just as Eli had almost broken Cammie years before, he’d managed to break the man who’d been the coach to both Eli and Cammie when they’d played for the county’s hockey team, the Night Hawks during their teenage years. He disappeared one night, only to return years later, resurrected as the addled Dancing Harry. It became evident to her that the intervening years had not been kind to the once brilliant teacher and coach. Convincing Cammie that his life as Coach Adam McIntyre had died long before, he begged her to keep his secret. She agreed, and it remained hidden within her heart.

  Emmy came over and looked at the quote. “Wow. That’s pretty deep,” she murmured.