Murder at Barclay Meadow (17 page)

“I'd like to make a toast,” I said and lifted my glass. “To…” A crack sounded from the window behind me. Glass shattered and something whizzed by my ear, drilling into the wall behind Annie. Plaster sprayed through the room.

“What the…” Tony grabbed Sue around the waist and pulled her under the table.

“What
was
that?” Annie slapped her hands over her ears.

“A freaking bullet!” Tony cried. “Get down!” He reached up and pulled her under the table.

Glenn crouched over his plate, covering his head with his arms. His elbow bumped a glass. Red wine sloshed over the white tablecloth like a curling wave.

“Mom,” Annie called from under the table. “Mom! Are you okay?”

I nodded slowly.

“Rosalie…” Glenn said. “Get under the table. There could be a second shot.”

“Okay.” I scooted out of my chair, feeling as if I were moving in slow motion. Tony grabbed my hand and pulled me down to the floor.

“What's happening?”Annie was trembling.

“I don't know,” I said, trying to steady my voice.

We waited, motionless in our huddled positions for what seemed like a lifetime, anticipating a second shot. I stared at Glenn's shoes, noticing he must have shined them for our dinner. I reached up and touched my ear. I had felt the breeze … I could be dead.

“Maybe we should call the police,” Sue said.

“Good idea.” I was grateful for a task. I crawled out from under the table and stood. The candles flickered violently from the night air rushing through the punctured window pane. I looked over at Glenn. The thin strands of gray hair that stretched across his scalp had fallen into eyes. His glasses were askew and he had a dollop of whipped cream on his nose.

“Are you all right?” I handed him a napkin.

“Yes,” he said in a quiet voice. “I believe I'm still in one piece.” He sat up and cleaned his glasses with the napkin. “Are you calling 9-1-1?”

“If I must.” I fetched my cell phone from the kitchen. “Although I'm not sure the sheriff will be filled with concern.”

Tony, Sue, and Annie emerged from under the table in various forms of disarray. “Mom,” Annie said. “Mom…” She was still shaking.

Tony put his arm around her. “Hey, kiddo, we're okay.”

She covered her face with her hands and began to cry. I hurried over and squeezed her arm. “Let's all go into the living room.”

Glenn stood and went to where the bullet had landed in a milkmaid's cart on the toile wallpaper. “Looks like a high-speed rifle.”

“Don't take it out,” Tony said. “The police will want to see it.”

Sue and Annie fell into the sofa, looking small and pale. Tony began pulling all the drapes closed. Glenn paced the floor. I focused on keeping my shivers at bay while I tapped on the three numbers. When I finished talking with the sheriff's department, I said, “They're sending a deputy right out.” It occurred to me then that they said deputy, not sheriff. He wasn't coming because he was probably on my property right now with a rifle. “I'll make some tea,” I said.

“To hell with that,” Tony said. “You have something stronger?”

“Yes,” I said. “Better idea.” I went into the dining room, blew out the candles, and balled up the wine-soaked tablecloth.

“Rosalie,” Glenn said in a lowered voice. “Do you think…”

“I don't know.” I walked over to the china cabinet and removed several liqueur glasses. I turned to face him. “If it is what you're suggesting, then it only proves we're right.” I handed him some of the glasses. Our eyes met. “I won't be intimidated,” I said. “But I want the rest of you to back out. This is mine to handle.”

“Slow down, Rosalie. Let's be rational.”

“There is nothing rational about a gunshot through a dining room window. Glenn, please, I can't get out of this, but the rest of you can. No one knows you're involved.”

“But you aren't locked into anything, either. No one will be hurt if you drop this investigation.”

“Glenn…” I tried to stop my teeth from chattering. “Someone already has. A young woman was murdered.” I walked into the kitchen, opened a bottle of port, and started filling the glasses. “I'm just so sick of injustice and selfishness. You may never understand why, but I have to make this right.”

“My dear.” Glenn peered over his glasses. “This is very serious.”

I took a long sip of port and said, “So am I.”

 

T
WENTY
-
ONE

Tony Ricci

Ever figure out what son-of-a-bitch hunter took a shot at us? Other than that, it was a great dinner. Hope Annie got home okay.

Nick Angeles

My first visit to your wall and someone is shooting at you? You are full of surprises. Thank you for becoming my friend. What, no photo?

Tyler extended his measuring tape and held it up to the shattered window pane. “We'll have to special order a replacement—this house being in the historic trust and all.”

I watched him through the wide archway separating the dining room from the kitchen. I looked down at the counter and carved a slice of turkey from what remained of Thursday's meal. “The police said it was just a rogue bullet from a deer hunter.” I opened the refrigerator in search of condiments. I grabbed some cranberry preserves and kicked the door shut. “But why were they so close to the house?”

“Probably tracking a wounded deer.”

“There's no sign of a deer out there.” I spread the preserves on a thick slice of bread. “The police weren't even interested in finding out who it was. I mean, he could have killed one of us.”

Tyler fit a piece of heavy plastic over my window and duct-taped it in place. “Did they look around outside?”

“For about a nanosecond.” I sawed the mounding sandwich in half. “Do you know the deputies didn't even take the bullet with them? I have it. It's in a drawer.”

Tyler stood in the dining room, a puzzled look on his face.

“What are you thinking?”

“How many people were here the other night?”

“Six, including me. Why? I still have plenty of turkey.”

“That's not it. I just can't figure out how a stray bullet missed all six of you. It's not a big room.”

I was suddenly very aware of my heart thudding in my chest. I was still reeling from the questions that had racked my brain all night. Had someone intended to miss our heads? Was this another warning or was someone actually trying to kill me? The plastic over the window snapped, looking like an expanded lung, and deflated again.

Tyler walked into the kitchen and stood next to me. “I've never asked you about your husband. He isn't one of those crazy guys, is he?”

“No.” I shook my head. “Ed hates guns. And he isn't obsessed with me. He's obsessed with someone much younger than me.”

Tyler nodded. “I'll go into town after lunch and order the glass.”

“Do you think you could pick up a few ‘no trespassing' signs?”

“That won't be too popular around here,” Tyler said as he washed his hands vigorously. “Your woods are prime hunting grounds.”

“Yes, well, I have zero interest in being their prey.” I placed the sandwich on a plate and added some potato chips and a pickle. “Annie was totally freaked out. I'll be lucky if I can get her to come back for Christmas.” I peered back into the dining room. The toile wallpaper's pastoral scene was now scarred by violence, as if war had fallen on the once carefree people.

“Do you want me to fix that hole in your wall when I get back?”

“Yes,” I said. “That would help.”

He eyed me. “I'll ask around when I'm in town—see if there were any drunk guys out hunting yesterday. Somebody might have seen him.”

“Thank you, Tyler.”

“You know you sure have run into some bad luck since you moved in, what with the dead body and now this.”

“Do you think it's some kind of sign?” I crossed my arms in defiance.

“All I'm saying is…” He munched on a potato chip and stared out the window. “It used to be a whole lot quieter around here.”

 

T
WENTY
-
TWO

It was our final memoir class and we agreed to meet thirty minutes early to ensure we had time to discuss the investigation. Even Tony arrived on time.

I took a sip of the chai tea Sue brought for us. It was the perfect accompaniment to the maple and walnut scones I made.

Tony picked up a second scone. “Your husband must be fat.”

“Ed? He has about five percent body fat.”

“I knew I hated the guy.”

“By the way, Tony…” I gave him a sideways glance. “How was that article you read. You know the one, ‘
Four Things You Do That Kill Her Sex Drive
'?”

Tony paled. “How the hell do you know about that?”

Sue dusted crumbs from her hands. “It was in the news feed on Facebook. You read it in
Men's Health
.”

“It was in the news feed?” Tony's eyes widened. “You mean everyone
saw
that?”

“If you like something it goes in the news feed, too,” Sue said. “You can change the settings. Do you want me to help you?”

“Heck, yeah,” Tony said. He shook his head.

Glenn crossed his arms. “So, the World Wide Web knows who we like, what we read…”

“Who you date…” Sue said. “Where you live, what you buy, what you search, what songs you listen to. There are no more secrets. I mean, none.”

“Not to change the subject, but can I ask you all something?” I leaned forward. “Are you certain you want to stay involved in this investigation? Because after Thanksgiving, I think we all know this has become dangerous.”

“But it was just a hunter tracking a deer,” Sue said. “It was very scary, but it was just an accident. Right?”

“What are you getting at, Princess?”

“Tyler mentioned that considering how many of us were seated in that small room, it's a miracle none of us got shot.”

“Well, yes,” Sue said, a trace of panic in her voice. “But that's a good thing.”

“Princess?” Tony's eyes narrowed.

“What if it was deliberate? What if someone missed hitting us intentionally?”

“Like who?” Tony said.

“Someone who wanted us to stop looking into Megan's death.” I swallowed hard. “Don't you think it's odd that the sheriff didn't show up that night?”

“It was a holiday,” Sue said. “He probably had the day off.” Her voice had risen and I worried I was scaring her. But maybe that was what I should do—scare her enough to keep her safe.

“Rosalie,” Glenn said, a stitch forming between his eyebrows. “Are you saying you think the sheriff shot that bullet through the window?”

“I don't know. But I think it's a definite possibility.”

“Or the professor,” Tony said.

“Nick?”

Tony rolled his eyes. “He may be hot, Princess, but he's still a suspect.”

“No, he's not that hot,” I said. “I just can't picture him with a high-speed rifle.”

“Whoever it was,” Glenn said, “it means we're on the right track.”

“But someone could get hurt.” I spun my cup around and avoided their eyes. “Or worse.”

“You're not getting rid of me that easily.” Tony leaned in. “We're in this together. And if someone wants to mess with me, I say bring it on.”

“Tony, this is serious.”

“And what makes you think I'm not?”

“I don't care, either,” Sue said. “We have to see this through. And if someone wants to intimidate us, well … well…” She tossed her shiny black hair off her shoulder. “Then I'm with Tony. Bring it on.”

“Sue,” I said, astonished. “Listen to you.”

“I know. I don't know why, but there's something about this investigation that's emboldening me. A girl was murdered. This is very serious and we're all she has.” Sue pulled her phone out of her purse. It was a different bag. This one was a Dooney & Bourke. Super-pricey. She glanced at her phone, set it down, and looked up. “So?”

“Why do you have such a cheap phone?” Tony said. “I thought everyone your age had an iPhone or a Samsung.”

“Budget,” she said.

“My point is,” I continued, “I don't want anyone to get hurt. One life is enough.”

“If you're trying to scare us off,” Tony said, “you can see it isn't working.”

I jumped when Jillian dropped her books on the desk. She scowled over her low glasses. I think it was the first time she had ever truly looked us in the eye.

“We can't do this again,” Sue whispered. “Especially now. Facebook only.”

“I have evaluation forms,” Jillian said. “But before I hand them out, I want you to know that I need this job. It's part of my graduate assistantship and if I lose that I won't be able to afford school. You know, it's not my fault if you didn't get anything out of this class.”

We exchanged guilty looks. “You've done a fine job, Jillian,” I said. “I have learned a great deal by taking this class.”

She picked up the papers. “You didn't write one word.”

“That doesn't mean I didn't get anything out of the class.”

“And what about you?” Her gaze shifted to Glenn. “You had one hundred pages when we started. And now you
still
have one hundred pages.”

“And they are a better one hundred than they were.”

Jillian rolled her eyes. “Why did you people even take this class?” When no one spoke, she stood and placed an evaluation on Sue's desk. “I hope you finish your memoir,” she said. “It's very good.”