by B. T. Lord
“I’m talking about all white.”
“Then you are referring to albinism.”
“Albinism?” she repeated, praying that Bodmin would soon start speaking English.
“Just as there are albino humans, there are also albino crows.”
“So they’re rare.”
“Yes. You see, albinism is a genetic mutation that prevents the production of melanin in the body. The albino crows will have pink or red eyes because of the melanin deficiency. May I ask what your interest is in a white crow?”
She took out her phone, scrolled through the photos and showed him the one she’d taken of the white crow.
“This was found in the woods about a mile from the Shakespeare in the Woods Inn.”
He took her phone and studied the picture. “Is this where the woman was found murdered?”
“That’s correct.” He handed her back the phone. “How do black crows react to the sight of white crows? There were dozens of them in the trees cawing incessantly when we arrived at the crime scene. Were they responsible for killing this white crow?”
“Now that’s a most interesting question. Most interesting. In studies, black crows appear to be aware that the white crow is different. Whenever the white crow comes near, they keep their distance. They actually ostracize the white crow.”
“So they are capable of killing the white crow?”
“Oh, quite definitely. Now of course we can’t get into the mind of a crow to get the definitive answer, but whether it’s the color itself or a scent given off by the lack of melanin, the black crows see the white crow as unhealthy. Diseased in some way. I’m sure you’ve viewed those nature shows on television that show predators going after the weakest member of the herd. It’s the same in the bird kingdom. In order to ensure their own survival, they must rid themselves of the unhealthy crow so it doesn’t attract predators. They therefore will surround the white crow and peck it to death, as you obviously saw and photographed in the forest.” He shook his head as he looked at Cammie over his half moon glasses. “Nature is very cruel, Sheriff. It is survival of the fittest. Prey or predator. Eat or be eaten. There is no middle ground.”
“Apparently not,” she answered quietly.
Grateful to be away from the glassy stares of so many birds, Cammie was on the road towards HQ when her cell rang. Looking at the display, she saw it was Doc.
“What’s up, Doc?” she answered.
“You really love saying that, don’t you?” Before she could respond, he continued. “I’ve finished the autopsy. The body is therefore ready to be officially identified. We can discuss the results of my exam over dinner tonight. Bring Jace. I’m planning on serving a lovely filet mignon with a tangy balsamic glaze.”
“Um, thanks for the invite, but the last time we discussed an autopsy over dinner, Jace spent the ride home throwing up.”
“What kind of a tough hockey player is he?”
“The kind who doesn’t need to hear how you sawed open a skull to get at the brain while eating a medium rare steak.”
“The youth of today have no backbone.” He sighed. “Oh alright. I promise to behave myself. No talk on autopsies until after we’re done eating.”
“Even then no graphic descriptions. I don’t need him vomiting all the way home again.”
After hanging up from Doc, she called Jace and told him of the invite. There was a long silence on the phone. “I made him promise not to talk about the autopsy during dinner, nor to be so graphic when we do get around to discussing it,” she added.
“Maybe I should sit this one out. I’ll make up some excuse. I’ll tell him I have hockey practice.”
“There’s no ice on Waban Pond,” she pointed out.
“A minor detail.”
“Tell you what. If I get even the slightest hint that he’s about to talk shop, I’ll kick him under the table.”
She could hear his smile over the phone. “Considering how much you adore his cooking, the fact that you’re willing to risk him never inviting you over for dinner again proves how much you love me.”
She called up Meredith and asked her again if she’d prefer Aubrey to identify the body. Once more the woman refused. She arrived at the inn to find Meredith waiting in the lobby for her. She was bundled up in an oversized sweater that made her look even more emaciated. Her hair was tied back severely in a ponytail while her face remained stony and expressionless. She spent the short ride to Doc’s staring out the window at the passing forest. Nor did she say anything when Cammie drove up Doc’s driveway and parked near the back of the large, luxurious log cabin. Most out-of-towners were astonished to discover that the mortuary was in such a beautiful building, situated on Waban Pond. But Meredith had retreated into an inner world where no one could reach her. Especially Sheriff Farnsworth.
They went down the short steps into what the locals called the Crypt and entered. Doc was in his white coat waiting for them.
“I’d like to offer my condolences on the death of your friend,” he said as he led them into the room where Poppie’s body lay under a white sheet. Meredith’s face had turned as white as the sheet covering Poppie, but she forced herself to stand next to Doc and watch as he pulled it back from the corpse’s face.
“Is that Poppie Beresford?” Cammie asked.
“Yes it is.” She struggled to hold onto her composure as Doc replaced the sheet over Poppie’s face. “How could he do such a thing?” she whispered under her breath.
Doc and Cammie exchanged surprised looks. “Who is he? Do you know who killed Poppie?” the sheriff asked in as gentle a voice as she could muster.
Meredith took out a tissue from her pocket and wiped the tears from her eyes. Her hands were shaking badly and her face was the color of chalk. “It was just a turn of phrase. I meant nothing by it.” She then began to sob into her hands.
Her explanation didn’t feel right. There was something else going on in Meredith’s mind. Was it another attempt to get Cammie’s attention away from her? Or did she actually know who the killer was?
Cammie wanted to press her for answers, but her sobbing had increased to the point that she was on the verge of hysterics. Doc put his arm around her shoulder and led her to a cabinet where he withdrew a small vial of pills.
“Take one of these when you get back to the inn. They’ll help you relax and sleep.” He slipped them into her sweater pocket, then motioned to Cammie to come over. “I’ll help you out to the Explorer.”
He wasn’t sure she’d heard. He led her outside, closely followed by Cammie where he helped her into the passenger side. “Call me immediately if you need anything,” he said as he patted her shoulder. After closing the door, he leaned in towards Cammie. “She’s on the verge of a breakdown. Make sure she takes one of those pills I gave her.”
By the time Cammie pulled up to the entrance of the inn, Meredith was keening in a shrill, sorrowful lament. Glancing through the front doors, her heart sank when she saw the lobby filled with guests. Tudor was going to have a heart attack if she brought the quasi-hysterical, wailing woman into such a crowd. Thinking quickly, she grabbed a bottle of water she had stashed in the back seat, withdrew the vial from Meredith’s pocket, shook out one of the pills and made her swallow it. She then waited for the pill to take effect.
It took five minutes, but Meredith finally quieted. Acting fast so she wouldn’t have to drag a semi-conscious woman up the stairs, she got Meredith out of the Explorer, through the lobby and up the stairs before she began to show signs of drowsiness. Cammie fished the room key out of Meredith’s jeans pocket and managed to get her into bed. She was removing her shoes when she heard the low sounds of snoring. After placing the shoes in the closet, she let herself out. Standing in the corridor, she leaned against the door and let out a breath. “The things I do for this job,” she muttered under her breath.
It was close to quitting time when Rick entered HQ. He’d been out doing the last patrol of the day, each step unexpected
ly dogged by a replay of his refusal to accompany Emmy back to her mother’s the night before. He felt guilty for lying to her – he hadn’t made dinner plans with his Gran, though after telling Emmy he did, he surprised his beloved grandmother by showing up at her house anyway. He’d spent the day stealing glances at Emmy, trying to see if she was still upset, but nothing showed on her face, or in her behavior towards him. She was as friendly and sweet as she always was.
So why was he being such a jackass to her? Why couldn’t he have just said yes and gone over there? If nothing else, he would have had an excellent meal as opposed to the leftover meatloaf Gran had served.
He inwardly sighed in frustration. He didn’t want to hurt Emmy. It killed him to hurt her.
Why don’t you make it up to her?
The thought appeared from nowhere. But the more he thought about it, the more it appealed to him. He could take her to Zee’s where he’d buy her dinner. Or, if she was busy, they could at least have a drink or a hot chocolate or whatever she wanted. She’d see he wasn’t such a jerk.
With a spring in his step, he walked into HQ and saw that she was on her cellphone. No biggie. He could wait until she was done. She was probably talking to her mother. Or one of her girlfriends.
He strode over to his desk and unbuttoned his jacket. Sitting down, he straightened out some papers on his desk. The sound of her laughter immediately caught his attention. He knew that sound. It wasn’t just ordinary laughter. He stole a peek over his shoulder and his stomach clenched when he saw the look on her face.
“You are too funny,” she laughed again. “But then, you always could make me laugh.”
What the hell?
Her laughter had a resonance that he recognized all too well. A timbre that showed she was very interested in the person she was talking to. A flirtatious, lighthearted sound that many of his girlfriends used on him whenever they wanted to show their interest in him. He looked again and his stomach clenched tighter. Shit, even her eyes had that sparkle to them that didn’t need an explanation. She was really into whoever she was talking to.
And he didn’t like it.
“That would be awesome,” she said, her voice wafting across the room. “I’m done for the day anyway. I’ll meet you there. Bye.”
She hung up her phone, threw on her coat, locked up her desk and waved to Rick as she passed him. “Good night, Rick. See you tomorrow.”
And with that she was gone.
He was tempted to follow her. To get up from his desk and see where she was going. And more importantly, who she was meeting. He started to rise when he realized how ridiculous he was being. He had no right to follow her. He had no right to spy on her. He’d continually forfeited his right every time he refused her invitations to have dinner with her.
He took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. A little voice in the back of his head began to mock him. What have you done? You had so many opportunities to let her know you care. Now look. It’s too late.
He shook his head to dislodge the voice. It wasn’t too late. She wasn’t engaged, was she? She hadn’t made an announcement that she was getting married, had she? Until that happened, there was still hope.
Spurred on by that thought, Rick jumped up from his chair and ran outside. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do. Or say. But he had to do something.
Dashing out on the sidewalk, he looked to his right, then to his left. The cold air billowed in a vapor before his face as he looked again. Then he cursed.
She was gone.
That night Cammie and Jace were treated to one of Doc’s spectacular meals. Along with the filet mignon, he’d made duchess potatoes and broccoli tossed with pine nuts and lemon juice. For dessert he brought out a white chocolate raspberry cheese cake. As promised, he refrained from talking about the autopsy, instead regaling the two with stories of his days traveling throughout Europe.
They were just finishing up the cheesecake when he stood up. “I’ll clean up later. Why don’t we retire to the living room? The nights are getting cold enough to crank up the old fireplace.”
It was Jace who ended up making the fire in Doc’s huge stone fireplace while he went into his study, reappearing a few moments later with a folder in his hand. When they were all seated – Cammie and Jace on the couch and Doc in his easy chair – he opened the folder and shuffled through the papers.
“My estimation of time of death stands. She was killed at least an hour before Mandy found her. There was one gun shot to her back which burst through her aorta, killing her instantly. There were no defensive wounds, nothing to indicate that she’d put up a struggle. There were no powder burns on the back of her vest which rules out the shooter killing her at point blank range. I spoke to Colin who believes the trajectory of the bullet points to the killer standing between those two trees that form the distinctive vee. That matches with the discovery of the bullet shell in the same vicinity.”
“What about that mark on her neck?”
“I was able to match it to her handbag.”
“So someone yanked the strap enough to leave a bruise on the side of her throat?” Doc nodded. “That had to be a pretty hard yank.”
“You think the killer did it?” Jace asked.
“The bruising was fresh, so if it wasn’t her killer, it was someone else who happened upon her near to the time she was killed,” Doc explained.
“Nothing was stolen from the bag, so that rules out someone trying to rob her,” Cammie mused. She thought for a long moment, then said, “Some of this doesn’t make sense. If Poppie saw her killer, it means she knew them. That’s the only explanation for her turning her back on them. Yet, would she turn her back on someone who yanked her bag hard enough to leave a mark? And then occupy herself looking through her binoculars? That action alone made her very vulnerable.”
“You’re right,” Doc conceded. “At first glance, it doesn’t make much sense.”
“She also handed her killer the perfect opportunity to murder her. She went out into the woods alone at an hour when there’d be no one else around. Even if she screamed, she was far enough in the forest that no one would hear her. She put herself in an incredibly weak position.”
“Who knew she was going out there at that particular time?” Jace asked.
“Right now, I’d say Meredith and Aubrey.” She smiled. “And the white crow.”
“A white crow?” Doc asked.
She shared what she’d learned from Meredith and Professor Bodmin. When she was done, Jace raised a surprised eyebrow.
“Bodmin actually spoke to you? He usually crosses the street to avoid you.”
Doc looked from one to the other. “What’s this all about?”
“Have you ever seen Professor Bodmin?” Cammie asked. He nodded. “Who does he look like to you?”
Doc thought about it for a moment. Suddenly his jaw dropped as he stared at her in disbelief. “Please don’t tell me you told him.”
She shrugged. “I thought he’d be flattered to be compared to such a famous person.” Doc groaned. “Anyway, it now explains what the white crow was doing near her. At first I wondered if Poppie’s murderer had killed the crow, maybe sending a message about what they thought of Poppie and of her quest to find it. Now I know it was killed by that horde of black crows that were hovering all around us in the trees.”
“I always thought animals were color blind,” Jace replied.
“So did I. But what Bodmin said makes sense. Animals, or in this case birds, can’t afford to let a weaker animal lead a predator to them.”
“Maybe that’s why Poppie was killed. The killer didn’t want her leading a predator to him or her.”
Cammie gave Doc a quizzical look, but he didn’t elaborate. Instead, he said, “Well, the only way you’re going to figure out whether she was followed or not is to find the motive. I told you how it was done. Now you get to discover why it was done.”
“Thanks,” she replied sarcastically. “Hopefully Emmy and Ri
ck will uncover something in their background checks on Poppie, Meredith and Aubrey.”
“That’s the second time you’ve mentioned the name Aubrey. Does he have a last name?” Doc asked.
“Yes. Aubrey Gardiner. Have you heard of him?”
Doc guffawed. “You’d have to be living under a rock not to have heard of Aubrey Gardiner and his delightful Magic Calico series.”
It was Cammie’s turn to groan.
The next morning, she was in her office, quietly sipping her morning coffee while she looked at the victim board. She couldn’t get out of her head Doc’s remark of the night before, when he’d asked if the reason Poppie had died was so she wouldn’t lead a predator to her killer. It had sounded innocuous enough, but for some reason, it wouldn’t let go. So much so that she’d actually written it down on the victim board. Now she looked at it, instinct telling her it was an important part of the puzzle. She just couldn’t quite figure out where it fit yet.
There was a knock on the door. Turning her head, she saw Emmy standing there.
“Sorry to bother you, Sheriff, but I just found something I thought you’d find interesting.” She came in and put a piece of paper down in front of Cammie. “I ran this off the internet.”
Cammie looked down and saw that it was an advertisement for an Autumn Harvest Festival. In late September, New England was filled with festivals that celebrated the time of year when the crops were harvested for the winter. Many of them featured prizes for the biggest vegetables; Cammie remembered seeing a 1,000 pound pumpkin one year, as well as prizes for the best pies and preserves. This one was no different. There was a picture of stacked hay bales and vegetables under a caption that read, “Celebrate Mategwas’s Seventy-Fifth Autumn Harvest Festival’. Scanning the advertisement, Cammie gasped when she saw the small print near the bottom of the page.
“Didn’t Mr. Gardiner say he and his wife hosted a dinner for Ms. Beresford and Ms. Quigley the night before the murder?” Emmy asked. Cammie slowly nodded. “Yet this is advertising Mrs. Gardiner once again presenting her award winning jam preserves. I wondered about that, so I called the organizers. And guess what, Sheriff? Mrs. Gardiner was there. And she won first prize. I did a bit more digging and discovered that she spent the night in Mategwas. She didn’t leave for Twin Ponds until 10 am the following morning.”