Murder at Barclay Meadow (13 page)

Janice stood in her immense two-story foyer under a dazzling crystal chandelier. The house was already humming with conversations and laughter. We brushed one another's cheeks, keeping our lipstick to ourselves, and Tony handed her a bottle of Moët. Janice had a round face framed with highlighted blonde hair and blue eyes that looked as if she was thinking up something mischievous. And most of the time she was.

“Snow White,” I said.

“Rose Red,” she replied.

“Your house is stunning.”

“Come in, come in. There are so many people I want you to meet.”

“This is Tony,” I said. “I hope you don't mind I brought a friend.”

“I didn't know there was a friend.” She winked.

“No, it's nothing like that,” I said. “We're in a writing class together.”

Janice shook Tony's hand. “Are you from the Shore?”

“Boston—born and bred.”

“Red Sox?”

“In good times and bad,” Tony said. “Unlike a lot of their more recent fans.”

“Yeah,” Janice said and nodded in agreement. “I hate it when somebody roots for a team just because they're winning.”

“Janice…” a voice squealed from behind me.

We stepped out of the way so that another cluster of guests could greet our hostess. When we reached the bar, I placed my hand on his arm. “Tony, thank you for coming with me. I'm new at going to parties without a husband.”

“No problem,” he said. “It's good to get out.”

“Chardonnay,” I said to a bartender dressed in a vest and crisp bow tie.

“I'll have a grounds for divorce,” Tony said.

“That's a new one for me,” the bartender said.

“Maker's Mark and a splash of coffee.”

“That's a new one for me, too,” I said.

“I made it up a few years ago,” Tony said. “It did the trick when I needed it to and I've been drinking it ever since.”

“Tony,” I said. “You're vibrating.”

He pulled his BlackBerry out of his shirt pocket. “Sorry. I gotta take this.”

The bartender handed me my wine. I stepped out of the way and scanned the crowd while I sipped. Several other people were tapping away on their phones, others rapt in conversations. I didn't recognize anyone. But this was the Devon County elite—the families that sent their children to the private school on the river and owned the factories and chicken plants on streets named after them. Their farms lined the Cardigan River and their money floated the charities in town. It was as old as money can get in our young country.

I looked for Tony and spotted him still by the bar. He had stowed his phone and was in a conversation with another woman. That was fast, I thought. She was younger than Tony and on the plump side. Rubenesque, I decided. Her dress had a plunging neckline and her breasts bounced as she laughed. I looked away. And there he was—Sheriff Joe Wilgus. He wore a sport coat and a tie dotted with decoy ducks and was talking to a group of similarly dressed men. I finished my wine in three gulps and set the glass on a passing tray filled with champagne flutes. I scooped one up and headed over to him before I lost my nerve.

“Sheriff Wilgus?” I said.

The other men stopped their conversation and looked at me with interest. “This is Missus Hart,” the sheriff said. “She's living in Barclay Meadow.”

“I know what you're thinking,” I said. “And yes, it's true, I'm the one whose property that poor college girl washed up on.”

“Welcome to Cardigan,” a ruddy, redheaded man said and laughed.

“I was rather hoping my first guest would be alive.”

He roared and slapped his thigh sheathed in madras plaid trousers.

“Sheriff,” I said. “Could I talk with you for a moment?”

He faced me and the men closed their circle. The intensity in his gaze sent a shiver through me. I clutched my champagne glass with both hands. “I'm sorry to interrupt.”

His eyes narrowed. He wasn't going to give me an inch.

“I've been wondering if you found anything else out about Megan.”

“Megan?”

“The girl who drowned.”

He sipped his drink. Ice cubes clanked against the glass. “I told you, it's none of your business.” A cloud of whiskey wafted toward me.

“But why did you close the investigation so soon? You said you haven't had a murder in seven years. Maybe it would be kind of fun to investigate. You're probably a little rusty, right?”

“No one,” he growled, “said anything about a murder.”

“But there are so many things to look into. For instance, what was in that envelope? The one that was in her backpack? And was she dead when she went into the water or did she drown?”

“I don't have to tell you any of that.”

“I know it was her parents who asked you to close the case. But why wouldn't they want to know how she died?” I looked up at him and batted my eyes.

“How in the hell do you know that?” His perpetually red face deepened to crimson. “What are you up to?”

“I'm just curious, is all.” I took a small step back. “She was such a lovely girl with everything going for her—friends, a soccer career. She was smart, too.” I hesitated, deciding whether or not to leak more information. But I could learn a lot from his reaction. “Did you know Megan had received a lot of interest from a psychology professor?”

His black eyes simmered, each burning with specks of gold that looked as if they were about to ignite into flames. He took a menacing step toward me. “I want you to get the hell out of my town.”

“There you are.” Janice slipped her arm through mine. “I've been looking all over for you. Hey, Joe,” she added. “Having a good time?”

“Time of my life.” He downed the rest of his whiskey.

“Looks like you're due for a refill.” Janice tugged on my arm. “I hope you don't mind, but I'm stealing Rosalie.” She kept me close as we walked away. “What are you up to, girlfriend?”

“Nothing.”

“Don't piss on Joe Wilgus's grass. He is very well connected.”

“Are you telling me Cardigan has a mob?”

“Every town big and small has a”—she made quotations marks with her fingers—“‘mob.' Some people have more power than others. That's how the world works.”

“The population of Cardigan is four thousand. I don't think it needs royalty.”

“Don't be naive, Rose Red.” She stopped and turned to face me. “You're new to town. It's like learning to cross the street. Just stop, look, and listen.”

“Or else get run over by the sheriff's cruiser?” I crossed my arms. “Janice, why do you invite him to your parties if he's such a bully?”

“That's exactly why. And a few other people, too. I invite them to my parties, and they leave me alone. Life can get very unpleasant around here if you don't follow the rules.”

“You mean
their
rules.”

“Every town has its decision makers. And Joe Wilgus just happens to be one of them. Did you know there's been a Wilgus in the sheriff's seat for three generations?”

“Last I checked I still live in a democracy.”

“Rosalie, really?” She shook her head. “Sometimes I forget you grew up in the boonies. How did you survive so long in the city?”

“Did you just say ‘boonies'?”

“You did and I did. Just stay out of Joe's way, got it? He's got a mean side and nothing good comes from him being pissed at you.”

I looked up at her. The animation that usually lit up her eyes and rounded her cheeks was absent, her tone uncharacteristically serious. “Okay,” I said. “I'll stay out of his way.” A chill whispered down my spine.

“That's more like it.” She tugged on my arm and led me through the crowd. “Let's lighten up and have some fun.”

We arrived at a glossy black, grand piano. A young man looked up at Janice, his fingers poised over the keys. “How about some Beatles, Will?”

Without Tony as protection, I was growing suspicious Janice had made a point of including the dentist in the sing-along. As the crowd closed in, I slipped from her grip and backed away.

The room was thick with people and crescendoing conversations. I glanced around the room. No sign of Tony. I wondered where that waiter with the champagne flutes was hiding. My heart was still palpitating from my conversation with the sheriff. Not just because I had mustered the courage to talk to him, but also because the man sent pulsating waves of terror through me. It was as if he had a force field of menace around him. Maybe I should stop being so nosy. Maybe I should …

Janice belted out, “
Let it be
…”

Was that a sign?

“Why is that man glaring at you?” Tony sidled up to me.

“Finally. I've been looking all over for you.” I looked out at the party-goers. “Who's glaring at me?”

“That guy over there by the window.”

The sheriff's eyes were glassier than before. He was in an intense conversation with a distinguished-looking man. Salt-and-pepper hair. It was David Carmichael, the president of the college. Sheriff Wilgus nodded as David continued to speak, but his eyes were zeroed in on me. Chill bumps raised the hairs on my arms.

I stepped closer to Tony. He handed me a fresh chardonnay. “That's him,” I said. “That's Sheriff Wilgus.”

“Find out anything?”

“Nothing.”

“It looks like you managed to piss him off.”

“I'm afraid so.” I sipped my wine. “That man he's talking to—he's the president of John Adams college. I saw them in Brower's together. Why would they be so chummy?”

“Good question. So, what do we do now?”

“Where's your new girlfriend?”

He frowned. “My who?”

“You know, Beverly Cleavage.”

Tony shook his head. “Her name's Heather and she works at the marina where I live. She's got four kids and a tank for a husband. He's a guide—takes all the rich hunters from Philly and D.C. out goose hunting on Janice's farm for a nice fat fee.”

“I'm sorry.” I smiled over at him. “I'm just teasing you. I think it would be nice if you found someone.” I started to drink my wine, but stopped midsip when I saw Professor Angeles. He stood by a window framed with long, plaid drapes. His dark curls were combed back and he wore a black silk shirt and a sleek pair of gray trousers. An empty champagne glass hung loosely in his hand. I stepped closer to get a better view.

“Now where are you going?” Tony said.

“That's the professor,” I whispered

“No kidding? Everyone in town is at this party.” Tony took a closer look. Professor Angeles was listening intently to a short, older woman with round, bottle-thick glasses. “Go say hi.”

“No.” I shook my head.

We watched as the woman fluffed her short curls. She gazed up at Nick, visibly enamored. Her irises were probably as wide as saucers.

“I know you said he was good lookin', but you never said he was
that
good lookin',” Tony said. “And he teaches sex? He must get laid all the time.”

I glared over at him. “That's not a good thing.”

“Depends on who you're asking.”

“Behave.” I elbowed him in the side.

“I didn't mean with his students. Oh, hey…” Tony tapped my arm. “He's waving.”

I looked back. Nick was smiling at me. I gulped and gave him a tight little wave. Tony waved, too. Nick motioned toward the woman with a slight nod of his head and mouthed,
Help!

“Look,” Tony said. “He wants you to interrupt. Go on.”

Just as I started over, Janice was at his side. “I know you can sing, Dr. Nick. Now come on over to the piano.”

The woman looked deflated. The wind huffed out of my lungs, as well.

“Man, Janice is good,” Tony said and sipped the last of his drink. “That's why everyone comes to her parties. She caught the SOS from the sex prof.” Tony looked down at his glass. “And she buys the good stuff. You ready for a refill? I think the bartender is pouring Cakebread chardonnay. Doesn't that cost a bundle?”

“Yes,” I said. “It does and I'm ready. But wait…” I grabbed his arm.

“Yeah?”

“There's David Carmichael again. Look how hard he's gripping the professor's bicep. He's angry with him.” I looked over at Tony. “Why?”

“Maybe the short chick was his wife.” Tony put his arm around my waist. “So, Nancy Drew, you coming to the bar or what?”

“The sheriff,” I said as I followed Tony. “The sheriff told David Carmichael what I know. Don't you see? They're worried I'll expose the affair.” I felt eyes on me and glanced over my shoulder. Sheriff Wilgus raised a fresh drink to his lips. He lifted his free hand and pointed his index finger at me, his thumb pointing up. He held my gaze as he slowly pulled the trigger and blew across his fingertip.

 

F
IFTEEN

The following Monday I was idly waiting for Annie to sign on to Facebook when Tyler strode into the kitchen. The sun had set without my noticing and the room glowed in a warm amber hue from a small lamp on the counter. Dickens was at my feet again. The mouth-watering aroma of baking bread saturated the air.

“If he keeps coming in here, he's going to end up fat and ill-trained.”

“He's old and happy,” I said and scratched his ears. “You don't really mind him coming inside, do you?”

Tyler eyed my wineglass.

I stretched my back. “I know, drinking alone. It would taste better if you joined me.”

“No judgement here,” Tyler said. “Rosalie, I have an idea of what you're going through.”

“You do?”

“I'm divorced. I'm surprised you didn't already know.”

My eyes widened. Tyler had never revealed a personal fact. “That's probably the only thing I haven't learned at Birdie's.”