Murder Among Crows

by B. T. Lord

  He met her eye, then quickly looked away. “I suppose,” he mumbled before he turned his attention to his computer.

  Emmy inwardly sighed. She was quickly reaching the conclusion that it was going to take a two by four to the back of Rick’s head to get him to stop wasting time and finally make a decision about them. As the sheriff was fond of saying, it would soon be time to shoot, shit or dismount. Yet at the same time, she feared that if she pushed, he’d run the other way. At least in the limbo they were in now, she could continue to pretend that they’d end up together. But that was no good either. Gosh, what a mess. Life sure wasn’t easy. It would be so much easier if it came with an instruction manual.

  Cammie drove around Twin Ponds, her words to Rick ringing in her ears. What exactly was she doing to figure her situation out? If anything, she was letting her fears overwhelm her, to the point that it was interfering with her job. And that, in her mind, was unforgivable. She put on music to try and drown out the thoughts in her head that she didn’t want to hear, but it was no use. The voices would not be stilled.

  As if her subconscious knew this matter with her mother and Harry had to be dealt with, she suddenly found herself driving near the beautifully scenic cemetery that lay on a hill overlooking Waban Pond. She hadn’t been there since she’d buried her father almost two years before and she was surprised to find herself passing by its wrought iron gates. Her first impulse was to continue past it. She wasn’t sure she was in the mood to walk among the dead, to remember the stories of the people she’d known and guess at those she’d never met. But as the gates loomed up before her, she slowed down.

  There was a serene quietude to the spectacular orange and red flamed trees surrounding the rows of headstones. It was silent here, the only sounds the slight rustling of the dying leaves as they sprinkled down like flame colored snow upon the graves. Cammie stopped the Explorer. The cemetery beckoned her. Telling her there was peace to be found here. All she had to do was get out of her vehicle and enter.

  She decided to do so.

  It was a perfect autumn day, with a slight coolness to the air. The cemetery was empty, her only companions the birds that flitted from tree limb to tree limb. Moving among the tombstones, she passed by several from the mid-1800’s when the town was formerly founded by a group of loggers and their families. However, way back in a corner of the graveyard, beneath a group of ancient oak trees were lichen stained stones where the writing had long ago faded away. Legend said these were the graves of the original founders of Twin Ponds – the real witches who escaped from Salem, Massachusetts during the infamous witch trials of 1692. No one knew if the stories were true, but for as long as Cammie could remember, on Halloween night, a ritual was performed at these stones and at the top of Crow Mountain to honor the memory of those who fled the persecution and started a new life, safely hidden away in the dense, Maine wilderness.

  She walked towards a copse of shrubs where a large rectangular gravestone stood. This was where her parents were buried. Carl and Caitlin Farnsworth were laid side by side, just as her mother had requested.

  At the time of her death, Cammie was too young to understand why a woman who had essentially been emotionally abandoned by her husband would want to spend eternity lying next to him. If it was her, she would have picked a spot as far away from him as possible.

  It was her father’s death years later that brought her back to Twin Ponds. Her first thought upon arriving was whether he’d left instructions to be buried elsewhere. He’d never acknowledged his abandonment of his family. Would he continue that abandonment in death? Thankfully, he left no changes to the location of his burial plot. Older now, and scarred by her own disastrous forays into the world of relationships, she followed her mother’s wishes and laid her husband next to her.

  There was a large boulder that happened to face her parents’ grave. Cammie leaned up against its cold surface and took in the white stone that had their names, dates of birth and death etched on them. She idly wondered if they were there with her. The local shaman Paul Langevin certainly believed that spirits wandered the earth, explaining to her once why ghosts existed.

  “Our lives are a collection of the choices we’ve made during that life. We each come here with a set of lessons to learn. With each choice we make that allows us to learn one of those lessons, our energetic vibration goes up a notch. With any luck, at your death, you will have learned whatever those lessons were. You’ll leave your body in a state of peace. But what about those who didn’t learn those lessons? Who die in a state of anger, or sadness or are consumed with unfinished business? Their vibration is very heavy. It’s hard for them to see the doorway that gets them out of the earthly dimension and into a higher dimension. Those folks are the ghosts we talk about and celebrate every Halloween.”

  Cammie wasn’t sure how she felt about all of that. Especially in light of her own parents. She was convinced her mother had died of a broken heart because she’d loved a man too much. She’d once thought that man was her father. But now with the discovery of the letters, she wasn’t sure anymore.

  “Did you really love Dad? Or did you die of a broken heart because you loved someone else? Was it all worth it, Mom?” Cammie asked aloud. There was no answer. Just the chirping of the birds. She waited a few moments longer, then sighed. “I guess it was stupid to think you’d even be here. If I was a ghost, I’d be living it up in London or Paris, not stuck here in the wilderness. That is, if ghosts even exist, regardless of what Paul says.”

  She stood up and was about to walk away, disgusted at herself for being so ridiculous, when the hairs on the back of her neck suddenly stood up. A moment later, a stiff breeze blew up from the pond and ruffled her hair.

  “Is that you, Mom?” she asked incredulously as the breeze abruptly stopped as quickly as it had started. She paused, her senses on alert, waiting, hoping. But as the minutes ticked by, the world of the cemetery returned to its silent serenity.

  This is crazy. It was just a breeze. Duh. The cemetery overlooks a body of water. You’re dumb to read anything otherworldly into it.

  Yet, as she made her way back to the Explorer, she felt a weird sensation in her chest. She put her hand up, trying to ascertain exactly what she was feeling. There was no pain or anxiety. Instead, it felt as though her heart was filling with a warm, sweet sensation.

  Love. It feels like love.

  She stopped on the dirt path and looked back over her shoulder to her parents’ grave. It was then she had an experience that she knew she’d carry with her for the rest of her life. A knowing came over her, as if words and emotions were imprinted onto her very skin. For that one second in time, Cammie physically felt the answer to her question. Tears stung her eyes as she hugged the words to her.

  I had enough love for both.

  By the time she returned to the office, she’d made up her mind that she was going to have to talk to Harry at some point. Not out of fear or anger, but rather out of curiosity. Driving back from the cemetery, she realized that her mother wasn’t just her mother. She was another human being trying her best to live her life the best way she could with what she knew. Cammie had no right to judge her, especially in light of her own roller coaster life.

  Yet, although she didn’t know how, she knew her mother had somehow reached through the veil that separated the two worlds of the living and the dead and touched her. Allowing her daughter to experience the depths of love she’d had for her husband and her lover. Cammie was in awe. It was in this sense of awe that she walked into HQ and met Emmy and Rick staring at her with a look of deep shock on their faces.

  “You two look as though you’ve seen a ghost,” she laughed.

  “We have.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Rick pointed down the hall. “Go into your office. Now.” Cammie looked to Emmy and the young woman nodded. Even her tiny dog Augustus, sitting in his little bed under Emmy’s desk peeked out and pointed his little nose towards Cam
mie’s office. “Just go,” Rick prompted.

  Intrigued by their strange behavior, Cammie did as they asked. She walked down the short corridor, entered her office and came to an abrupt halt.

  “Oh my God,” she said without thinking.

  The petite, well dressed young woman turned away from the victim board she’d been studying and approached Cammie with her hand outstretched.

  “You must be Sheriff Farnsworth. I’m Hannah Beresford.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “I was quite surprised to see myself up on your board,” she said as she came up to Cammie. She saw the shocked look on the sheriff’s face and frowned. “Is everything alright? You look as astonished as your staff did when I introduced myself.”

  “That’s because you’re dead. Or at least we all thought you were.”

  Hannah’s eyebrow went up in bemusement. “As Mark Twain once said, the reports of my death are greatly exaggerated. Unlike my mother.” She jerked her head towards the victim board. “What happened to her?”

  Ordinarily Cammie would have been sensitive to the victim’s family, trying to find the right words to soften the blow of their tragedy. But Hannah’s manner, cold and matter of fact, left her feeling cold herself. Especially in light of what had just occurred with her own mother back at the cemetery.

  “She was shot in the back,” she replied succinctly.

  “When?”

  “Last Tuesday morning, between 5 and 8 am.”

  At this point, most family members wept. But Hannah just shrugged her shoulders. “What goes around comes around.”

  Taken aback by the young woman’s unfeeling attitude, she said, “It sounds as though the two of you didn’t quite get along.”

  Hannah sat down opposite her while Cammie sat at her desk.

  The young woman, who bore a close resemblance to Poppie, met Cammie’s eye. “I hated my mother, Sheriff. I’m only here to make sure she’s really dead.”

  Cammie swallowed her shock at Hannah’s callous statement. “What happened to make you hate her so much?”

  “Did you know her at all?” Cammie shook her head. “My mother had a talent for making everyone around her completely miserable. She was a hard woman. No compassion, no empathy, nothing. She considered those weaknesses. She was incredibly judgmental. No one could do anything right. Daddy grew to hate her so much, he actually left the country after the divorce so he wouldn’t have to deal with her ever again.” At least Cammie now knew why he’d never returned their phone calls. “So why did you and your staff believe I was dead?”

  Cammie got up and walked to the victim board where she took down the photo of Poppie and Hannah. She turned it over and handed it to the young woman. Hannah glanced down at it before handing the photo back to Cammie. “Ah. Now I understand.”

  Cammie pinned it back to the board. “What happened on that Fourth of July?”

  “That’s the day I walked out of the house, swearing I’d never speak to her again. And I haven’t.”

  “Why?”

  “She killed my best friend.” When she saw the look on Cammie’s face, she chuckled mirthlessly. “She didn’t put the gun up to Willow’s head, but she might as well have. You see, Willow was a very sensitive soul. You looked at her cross eyed and she’d burst into tears. I think the term for her these days would be hypersensitivity disorder. We met in high school. I felt sorry for her and took her under my wing. She had a huge heart, but just had a hard time dealing with people.” Her voice softened as she continued. “I should have known better. I never should have invited her to spend spring break with us. But water always seemed to calm Willow. At that time we lived on an estate in Greenwich, Connecticut that sat right on the Long Island Sound. I thought the views would soothe her.” She shook her head, her blonde hair swaying against her shoulders. “It’s a decision I’ll have to live with for the rest of my life.”

  “What happened?” Cammie gently asked.

  “Mother quickly sized up Willow. She was like a cat stalking its prey. She saw Willow’s weaknesses and went right for the jugular. She just wouldn’t let up in her criticisms of Willow – she had a word to say about everything – Willow’s clothes, her hair, her fingernail polish – nothing was good enough. Willow just wanted to be accepted. My mother knew that and used it to her advantage. It got so bad, Mother and I had a huge blow-out. Willow and I left the next day, but the damage had been done. What little self-esteem Willow had was shattered. Two days after our return from Greenwich, she hung herself in her dorm room. I found the body. It was horrifying.” Her face hardened as she jerked her head back towards the victim board. “Looks like karma to me. Willow killed herself because of Mother and Mother was shot because all that bad energy she spewed out finally caught up to her.”

  “Is that what caused the divorce?”

  “It was the final straw. Both Daddy and I turned our backs on her.”

  “Did you know she’d moved to Mategwas? It’s a small town about two hours from here.”

  “Don’t know, don’t care.” She paused for a moment, then asked, “What was she doing down here?”

  “She was an avid bird watcher. We’d had reports of a white crow and she and a friend came down to see if they could spot it.”

  Hannah snorted derisively. “Bird watcher? That’s new. When I was growing up, I found an injured robin on my way home from school. I took it home and spent the whole night nursing it. When I came home from school the next day, it was gone. I asked my mother what happened to it and do you know what she said? ‘Birds carry diseases. So I got rid of it.’ I looked all over the yard for that bird. What I finally found was a pile of bloodied feathers. Whether she did it herself or a predator got to it, I still don’t know. Our caretaker was the one who had to calm me down when I started to cry. Don’t even get me started on how she treated him.” Before Cammie could ask, she burst out, “We could never keep any servants. She always found something wrong with them. She actually accused Beau of stealing from her and sacked him right on the spot. I was fourteen years old. He was always so kind to me. I never got to say good-bye.” Realizing she was getting too upset, Hannah pulled back. She looked at Cammie and gave her that sad smile. “But that was my mother.”

  “Do you think any of these servants she fired held a grudge?”

  “You mean enough to track her down up here and kill her? This was years ago. Sheriff. I’d doubt it very much. Mother never knew it, but Daddy not only found them other jobs, but also made sure to give them all excellent references. They deserved gold medals for putting up with her.”

  “I’m going to need you to provide a list of those names to my deputy.”

  Hannah gave her a disdainful look. “You can’t honestly believe one of them killed my mother. I told you, this was all years ago.”

  “They need to be ruled out.”

  “Oh, alright.”

  “So you never spoke to her again after you left?”

  “I did not.”

  “Did she try to contact you?”

  “I have no idea. I only use my cell, and I made sure she didn’t have my number.”

  “Where do you live now?”

  “I live in New York City. I’m a journalist. One of my colleagues saw a newspaper article on the death of my mother and brought it to my attention. I decided to come up here in person to make sure it’s true. Before you ask, I was working on a story on the day of her death. These are several people who can attest to me being in Manhattan.”

  Cammie opened the drawer of her desk and withdrew a photograph. It was one she’d snapped at Poppie’s house. She showed it to Hannah.

  “What’s this?” the young woman asked.

  “I took that at your mother’s house the other day. That’s a shrine she made to you in her bedroom. From what I’ve been told, she always kept the photograph of you two that’s pinned up on the board with her. Many of the people I spoke to all agreed that she would spend hours looking at it. Now I’m not a psychologist, but
I think she was remorseful over how she treated you. Her life was never the same when you walked out on her.”

  Cammie took out another photograph and gave it to Hannah. “I found this in her wallet.”

  It was the quote.

  Do as the heavens have done, forget your evil; With them forgive yourself.

  Hannah quietly read the quote before turning her attention back to the picture of the shrine dedicated to her.

  “I believe your mother was seeking redemption for what she’d done,” Cammie replied softly, wondering if her words would help Hannah realize that the woman she’d come to loathe was not the same woman whose life had been taken a few days before. “She could only forgive herself if you forgave her first.”

  Sadly, Hannah tossed both photographs back onto Cammie’s desk. “Too late for that,” she said icily.

  Cammie put the photographs back in her desk. “The coroner is ready to release the body.”

  Hannah reached into her purse, took out a checkbook and quickly made out a check. She tore it out and handed it to Cammie. “Burn the body and toss the ashes over the big pond I saw on my way here. It’s a pretty enough spot. The check should cover the costs. As to whatever belongings she brought down here on her visit, please give them away to someone in need. At least in death, she might be able to actually help someone.” She stood up. “I’m sorry you’re stuck trying to solve this. My mother was an evil woman. Maybe heaven can forget her evil. But I can’t.” She turned and walked out of the room.

  Cammie watched her go, then glanced down at the check she still held in her hand. It was more than enough to cover funeral expenses. She carefully folded it and placed it in her desk. She then sat back in her chair and stared into space, going over what was to her a sad conversation with a very damaged daughter.

  Hannah had tried to come off as cold and uncaring - her mother simply a chapter in her life that she’d closed years before. But Cammie felt much of it was a façade. Hannah was hurting. She still carried the scars of a self-absorbed, narcissistic parent who had robbed her of what a parent was supposed to provide – a sense of safety, of being loved and cared for.