The Secrets Of Mead

by Michaela James

  Blushing, Syd looked towards the house. With a mixture of solace and trepidation, she saw the mayor of Mead making his way towards them.

  “What are you two laughing about?” the mayor enquired.

  “Mark, this is …”

  “We’ve met,” Mark interjected. “I am the Mayor, Syd. It’s my duty to welcome the new detective to our beautiful village.”

  Craig stood to shake Mark’s hand. “Please sit down and join us. Sydney was just assisting me with the who’s who of Mead.”

  Helping himself to a sausage roll, Mark responded, “Was she indeed. I trust you have a strong constitution Detective Monroe.”

  Smiling, Craig said, “Mead is quite fortunate. I understand it’s not common for a village this size to have a mayor.”

  Mark wiped flaky pastry from his hands. “Nor a town hall, golf course or bowling green.” Nodding towards a large oak tree, he continued, “It’s all thanks to our generous benefactor, Lord Abbott Rigg.”

  Craig, about to ask the mayor how revenue from these assets impacted the village, paused when Mark said, “Where’s your shadow, Syd?”

  Holding the mayor’s gaze, Syd replied, “I don’t know Mark. Where’s your cling on?”

  Sensing tension, Craig said, “I think It’s probably high time I mingled.”

  Turning to face him, Sydney said, “Don’t go yet. We’ve still got a lot of who’s whoing to do.”

  While staring at Syd, Mark enquired, “What do you think of our village, Craig?”

  “I think it’s wonderful,” the detective replied. “I’m looking forward to settling in.”

  Syd pulled a face. “Not much crime here. I hope you won't get too bored”

  Raised voices, coming from the patio, prevented Craig’s response.

  “Oh, look, Mark,” Syd said teasingly. “Your girlfriends are having a little spat.”

  Turning to see Cynthia and Tracy Abbott Rigg, inches from each other and hurling insults, Craig asked his table companions, “Should I be on duty?”

  Mark shook his head. “No, you’re fine. Cynthia could pick a fight in an empty room. If they start pulling each other’s hair, we’ll intervene.” Grinning, Mark added, “After about ten minutes of course.”

  “I’ve never seen them go at it like this before,” Syd said. “I’m going to casually walk by and see if I can learn anything.”

  Returning moments later, Syd reached for her drink.

  “Well?” Mark asked.

  “They weren’t fighting over you if that’s what you suspected.”

  Mark ran a hand through his dark wavy hair. “That is surprising. Surely it wasn’t Lord Abbott Rigg.”

  “Does it have to be over a man?” Craig enquired.

  Mark laughed, as Syd explained, “With these two, Craig, it’s rarely anything else.”

  Turning to look at the feuding women, Craig asked, “Who’s the man in question?”

  Suddenly finding little humor in the situation, Syd replied, “Doctor Jude Ryland.”

  ****

  The argument’s vehemence growing, Craig excused himself and made his way towards the house.

  Eyeing Syd intently, Mark asked, “Do you have a bit of a crush?”

  Syd shrugged. “No more than the one you have on Lady Abbotsolutely Riggdiculous.”

  Smiling, Mark focused his attention on the woman in question. “You know the funny thing, Syd; I like her more when she's herself, the awkward, brash girl from the wrong part of London. Her attempt at BBC English is just painful to witness.”

  The pitch of screaming now having reached a level even the cricket playing children couldn’t ignore; Craig escorted Cynthia to her car. Surprisingly, she didn’t resist. Just repeatedly turned her head back towards the house, shouting aspersions.

  After watching Cynthia drive away, the detective took one last look across the lawn; Sydney and the mayor were deep in conversation. Lord Abbot Rigg hadn't moved in the last hour, and the children had resumed their cricket game. Walking back onto the patio, Craig graciously thanked Lady Abbot Rigg for a wonderful party. She gave him a strained smile before heading, for the first time that afternoon, towards her husband.

  Conversation began to peter out as drying sandwiches sat unwanted upon plates. Guests made their obligatory visit to Lord Abbott Rigg. Akin to children forced to talk with a great uncle, they stood awkwardly around his chair. Following a few polite words, mostly about the weather, they offered thanks to the hostess before retreating to their own homes.

  Mark professed his desire to watch the children’s cricket game. Chairs in hand, he and Syd parked themselves near Lord Abbott Rigg. Mark, unbidden, began giving the children advice on their bowling. Syd was pleasantly surprised to find Lord Abbott Rigg eager to chat. The pleasantries, however, were short-lived. Barely allowing Syd to respond that her horse was healthy and jumping well, Lord Abbott Rigg turned the conversation to Jude Ryland.

  Saved, from more questions, by the arrival of two male nurses, Syd averted her eyes as Lord Abbott Rigg was assisted from chair to walker. Clapping encouragingly towards the children, Mark waved his thanks to the elderly man before reclaiming his seat next to Syd. “Some damn good players, real potential there.”

  Syd smiled distractedly. “There’s something very strange going on.”

  Mark raised his eyebrows. “I confess I find it strange that you of all people find anything strange.”

  “Why?” Syd continued, ignoring Mark’s comment, “Is Lord Abbott Rigg so interested in Jude all of a sudden?”

  Mark turned to face her. “What did he say?”

  “He asked me how well I knew him. When I said, I worked for the man, so quite well, he asked if we talked about private, hard to discuss topics. Fortunately, his aides arrived and prevented the conversation from continuing.”

  Despite three glasses of Pimm’s and heat from the afternoon sun, Mark’s face lost all its color. “Do you think he suspects?”

  Syd shook her head. “No, not possible. No one suspects.”

  6

  The Vicarage

  “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned …”

  “My dear lady,” George interjected, “I’m a vicar, not a priest. The sacrament of confession is Roman Catholic. I can’t absolve your sins.”

  “But you’re a man of God, are you not?” the female caller argued.

  “I am indeed,” George responded. “As I’ve said before, if you would like to meet and talk, I’m more than happy to listen and offer advice, I simply …”

  The mysterious woman disconnected the line. George opened his leather-bound diary and made a notation of the call. Without flipping back the page, he knew this to be the fifth communication in twenty-four hours. Each conversation began and ended the same way. The only variation was the increasing panic in the woman’s voice.

  George exhaled as he sat in his, almost threadbare but still very comfortable, armchair. “What to do?” he directed towards his dog, ‘Nipper.’ The aged Jack Russell offered no solution as George, relaxing into the headrest, closed his eyes.

  As if this simple motion had activated an old movie, images, both animate and haunting performed roles George remembered all too well.

  Standing, he walked towards the window offering a view across three adjoining fields. Neglected, but still formidable stood a building with no name. Its erection caused quite a stir. To their credit, the builders had constructed it in keeping with local architecture. Not an easy task considering most homes in Mead were over a hundred years old. George, in his thirties at the time, offered this as an appeasement to Mead residents. At least, the building wasn’t an eyesore. The owner had cared enough to pay the additional monies for reclaimed bricks and beams. However, in time, it became apparent the owner of this building had their own reasons for being inconspicuous. The business conducted within its walls was of a highly private nature. George shivered despite absorbing the midday sun. The Village of Mead has held its secrets for far too long.

&nb
sp; 7

  Mead Surgery

  Syd hit the end call button on her phone for the seventh time in five minutes.

  Why wasn’t he answering? Something was wrong.

  Despite knowing his fondness for a Sunday afternoon nap, Syd felt she should have called on Jude after leaving the garden party yesterday. Yes, she was miffed he hadn’t shown up, but more curious than cross. They’d enjoyed the previous year’s fiasco. Doctor Atwell had called his wife a vacuous, vain, whingeing old bag. Lord Abbott Rigg had laughed so hard he almost fell off his lawn chair. The current DI, well inebriated by this point, had patted Lloyd on the back before saying, “Glad you got that off your chest old man.”

  Thoughts of Jude were interrupted by a knock on her semi-open door.

  “Sorry to bother you, Syd,” Caroline began. “But would you mind talking with Mrs. Dixon? She’s having a meltdown. Her appointment with Doctor Ryland was for eleven, and he’s not here yet.”

  Syd felt her stomach churn. “I’m sure he’ll be here any minute; tell her to take a seat.”

  Caroline looked as if she were about to cry. “Syd, she’s been on at me for the last twenty minutes. I don’t know where he is. I’ve tried calling him a million times. Please, she’s driving me crazy.”

  Syd took one more hopeful look at her phone. A blank screen stared back at her. “Sorry. Of course. Let’s go.”

  “Mrs. Dixon,” she declared upon entering the reception area, “Lovely to …”

  “Am I, or am I not, the only expectant mother in the village of Mead?” the heavily pregnant woman interjected.

  “Yes, you are, Mrs. Dixon.”

  “Then where the hell is he?”

  Wishing she knew, Syd replied, “I’ll drive over to doctor Ryland’s place right now. I can only presume he’s in bed with the flu.”

  Julie Dixon narrowed her eyes. “If that’s the case, leave him there. I certainly don’t want his germs. Really though, the man’s too ill to pick up the phone and reschedule? Is my time unimportant to him? Does he have any idea the organizing involved when one has a child due any minute?”

  A distinct pleading tone to her voice, Caroline asked, “Can I go check on him, Syd?”

  Before Syd could say no, the receptionist grabbed her handbag and hurried out the door.

  Breathing in the familiar leather scent, Caroline started up her old Volkswagen beetle. The world had gone mad this morning. Doctor Atwell had asked her, none too politely, to find some old documents from years back. Three patients had canceled their appointments with Doctor Ryland as if they’d somehow known he wouldn’t be in the surgery. And now Julie Dixon was making a federal case about one lousy check-up.

  8

  Tudor Lodge

  Caroline pulled into Jude Ryland’s driveway. The house was undetectable from the street. She and Syd had joked it was by design to hide Jude’s girlfriends from one another. Exiting her car, Caroline walked over to the doctor’s garage. Standing on tiptoes, she peered in through the high window. His black Porsche was there. Caroline looked at her watch. It was eleven thirty-five; maybe he was still in bed? But doctor Ryland was never late and if he’d overslept surely the phone would have woken him.

  Lifting and releasing the heavy brass doorknob, Caroline waited. Receiving no response, she pressed the bell centered directly below it. After five minutes of knocking and ringing, she gave the rosette style doorknob a quarter turn to the right. It seemed intrusive, but she wasn’t facing Mrs. Dixon again without the doctor in tow.

  Entering the large foyer, Caroline stood and took in her surroundings. A traditional-style doctor’s bag sat on the bottom stair of a spiral staircase to her left. Car keys and a mobile phone lay atop a mahogany table to her right. Reluctant to move far from the home’s entrance, Caroline called out, “Doctor Ryland are you home? It’s Caroline from the Surgery.”

  About to venture halfway up the staircase and call out again, Caroline stopped upon hearing a woman’s voice. It appeared to be coming from the furthest most room off the foyer. Slowly, heart hammering, she made her way towards the vocals.

  Caroline simultaneously announced herself and apologized before entering. Nervous and confused, she looked all around her. A female voice continued to bounce off the leather-bound books bordering the room. The owner of the voice didn’t draw breath. Her words becoming faster, more anguished and urgent. Caroline’s pulse quickened. Where was this woman? Who was this woman, and why wouldn’t she stop talking? Her voice cracking, Caroline called out the doctor’s name … and then she saw him.

  Jude Ryland, his back to her, was sitting behind a large mahogany desk. He appeared mesmerized by something beyond the bay window. The seemingly ghostlike woman was crying now. How could the doctor sit there so calmly? And why wasn’t he answering when Caroline called his name?

  Inexplicably her heart rate quickened. She should leave; she was intruding on something private. Rooted to the spot, she followed Jude’s viewpoint. Two palomino horses joyfully ran across the paddock. The room fell silent, and Caroline said, “I’m sorry I bothered you. I’ll tell them you’re taking some personal time, and we’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Leaving the ornate library, Caroline heard whispering. It was a woman again, but a different voice to the last. Recently aware the voices were from a recording; she continued towards the front door.

  Her hand on the doorknob, she looked to the left. Grabbing the doctor’s mobile phone, Caroline returned determinedly to the library and approached Jude’s desk.

  “Doctor Ryland, I’m going to leave this within reach, just in case you want to call the surgery. If you need …”

  Caroline stared at the doctor’s profile “… anything.”

  Coming around to face him, she gently inquired, “Doctor Ryland, are you okay?”

  The simple act of breathing was now difficult. There appeared to be a blockage between her lungs and throat. The harder Caroline tried to inhale air, the more a burning sensation intensified. Doctor Ryland stared blankly at her; eerily un-phased by her current state of panic. Bizarrely, she remembered the time she’d fallen off her cousin’s mare. Jude had been so calm and methodical while setting her arm. He’d recounted a traumatic day he’d experienced at boarding school. The story had been delivered in such a serene and composed manner, Caroline, at fourteen years old, was unshaken by her first broken bone.

  Tears appeared out of nowhere. They streamed down her pale cheeks as breath came in gasping sobs. Caroline willed her eyes to leave his face, then forced her feet to remove her from an unacceptable sight.

  Five minutes later, she walked into the police station.

  “Doctor Ryland is dead.”

  9

  Mead Surgery

  Syd managed to convince Mrs. Dixon; she was quite capable of performing the routine check-up doctor Ryland had scheduled.

  First-time mothers were always the trickiest. Syd reassured the soon to be mum that, yes, the baby’s heartbeat was very strong. Absolutely, listening to classical music would make her baby smarter. And certainly, her husband would still find her desirable after seeing the birth.

  Syd put the blood pressure band around Julie Dixon's arm and wondered where Jude was. She measured Julie's pregnant belly and agonized at why he wasn’t answering his phone.

  Julie sat up suddenly. “You're not saying anything; you do think it's a problem.”

  Syd’s thoughts were hastily brought back to the prenatal room. “Sorry Mrs. Dixon, what was your question?”

  “I said … I haven't been eating much lately and hope it won’t affect my baby's size.”

  “No need to worry, this baby is a healthy size already. Any bigger and you won't be able to squeeze it out.” Syd started to laugh until she saw the look of horror on the pregnant woman’s face. Sighing, she added, “Just nibble throughout the day. Little portions on a regular basis would be great.”

  Julie Dixon, looking unconvinced, waddled out of the examination room.

  What was kee
ping, Caroline? Couldn’t she call and tell them if Jude was indeed unwell. The not knowing was driving Syd crazy. Had he decided it was just all too much for him and left Mead? Certainly, Jude’s life had been turned upside down lately. Was she not enough to keep him here? Dammit Caroline, where are you? More to the point, where was Jude?

  Doctor Atwell sat staring at his closed office door. There were numerous things to be done, but he seemed somehow incapable today. One reality and two possibilities were bothering him. His wife Margaret was gone for most of Saturday evening. Had she followed him and if so, was she aware of the motive behind his actions that night?

  10

  The Old Mead Police House

  David stood quickly and awkwardly, his chair toppling to the floor. “Are you certain?”

  “He was all stiff, and his eyes weren’t normal,” Caroline stammered.

  Craig exited his office, procured a packet of chocolate digestives and joined his assistant at the front desk.

  “This is Miss Hicks, Sir,” David announced.

  Smiling, Craig asked, “Am I right in thinking you and Sydney are friends?”

  “Yes, we work together at the surgery.”

  “Of course, that’s right,” Craig said. “May I call her for you? Or perhaps a family member?”

  “Syd would be good.”

  Craig handed David the biscuits and motioned toward an old velvet couch. "Please get a brief statement from Caroline as soon as she feels well enough to talk. I’ll try Sydney at the surgery.”

  Standing a little taller, David retrieved his, unused until this moment, notebook.

  With new-found speed, he documented Caroline’s words. Clearly traumatized, the young woman rapidly recounted what she’d seen at Tudor Lodge.

  Only when she mentioned something said by one of the recorded voices, did David’s pen linger above the page. He knew that story, had heard it many times. If Caroline was telling him everything, then she’d only been privy to a small slice of the sordid tale. David’s heart began beating as fast as his pen was once again moving. He needed to warn the owner of that voice, and he needed to do it now.