The Secrets Of Mead

by Michaela James

  Placing markers in their special carry case, Lizzie asked her friend, “What do you think that fight between Lady Abbott Rigg, and Cynthia was about?”

  “I was still in the kitchen at the time, but Caroline told me Cynthia thinks Lady Abbott Rigg and Doctor Ryland had something going on.”

  Lizzie reiterated, “She was out all night and came back with his cufflinks!”

  17

  Mead Surgery

  Having been up half the night listening to the cd found in Jude’s library, Craig was grateful for the crisp morning air.

  Minutes after arriving at Mead Surgery, he heard a voice behind him say, “Seven pounds, eight ounces.”

  Turning from the large photo pinned to a bulletin board to face Syd, Craig enquired, “Is that big, small or in between?”

  Syd giggled. “Well, I think the medical term would be slightly above average.”

  “Who could ask for more than being, slightly above average?” Craig suggested.

  Wide-eyed, Syd replied, “Oh my gosh, when you meet the boy's mother, don't ever say, what a nice, slightly above-average child you have.”

  “Noted,” Craig responded somberly.

  Placing a hand to her throat, Syd explained, “The baby's mother is, oh, here's another good medical term, slightly above neurotic. The second the baby was born, and Julie learned of her child’s gender; she ordered her husband to get the envelope out of her bag titled, boy. In this letter were explicit instructions about waiting lists of schools, clubs, and organizations they needed to be on.”

  “Poor kid,” Craig acknowledged before asking, “May I have the pleasure of your company for lunch tomorrow?”

  Receiving affirmation to his offer, Craig asked if Lloyd Atwell was available. Assured he was in his office and without a patient, he knocked on the doctor’s door.

  “I'm afraid I can only permit you a few minutes old chap,” Lloyd cautioned upon Craig’s entry. “The wife’s invited half the village over for an afternoon of bridge.”

  Making a point to look at his watch, Craig sat down. “That’s fine. I’m grateful for any time you can afford me.”

  Sliding a large stack of papers from his desk into an old brown leather briefcase, the doctor asked, “What can I help you with?”

  “We’ve yet to see you at the station. I believe my assistant, David, asked you to stop by and leave your palm prints.”

  “Been extremely busy. I’m sure you can appreciate I’m the only doctor in Mead now.”

  “I’d find that easier to grasp if you weren’t itching to leave this surgery at ten am to play bridge.”

  “How dare … I’ve never …” Lloyd Atwell spluttered before concluding with, “I’ll need the name of your superior.”

  Casually writing on his pad, Craig tore off the page, before pushing it across the desk. “DCI Redmayne. Feel free to lodge a formal complaint.”

  Lloyd grabbed the paper with a shaking hand. “I don’t know how they do it where you’re from Detective, but we’re not accustomed to this sort of vulgar treatment in Mead.”

  “I’m sorry if you find my approach …” Craig paused to enunciate the word “vulgar, Doctor Atwell. However, in my profession, a bedside manner isn’t one of the top requirements.”

  “I’ll stop by the station tomorrow, after my house calls,” Lloyd mumbled.

  “I appreciate that. While I’m here, would you mind if I ask you a couple of questions?”

  Lloyd pulled a pocket watch from his waistcoat. “If you make it quick.”

  Pen poised, Craig enquired, “Why do you believe Jude Ryland is no longer with us?”

  “Well, you just get straight to the point, don't you son?”

  “You said you didn't have much time.”

  Lloyd, regarding the partially open door, said covertly, “I believe he had women problems.”

  “You’re suggesting there was a volatile situation between Doctor Ryland and a girlfriend?”

  Maintaining a deep whisper, Lloyd replied, “Let’s just say there was more than one lady, and they didn’t appreciate each other’s existence. I guess I’m just an old fuddy-duddy, but I don’t understand why young people can’t find a nice mate and settle down.”

  Raising dark brows, Craig enquired, “Do you imagine one of these women was disgruntled enough to murder Jude Ryland?”

  “Hang on a minute there, my man,” Lloyd replied while pulling at his shirt collar, “Who on earth said anything about murder?”

  Craig nonchalantly crossed one leg over the other. “You think Jude ended his life because of women problems?”

  Seeming to like this line of inquiry more, Lloyd leaned back in his chair. “Humans are such complex characters, who knows why they do anything they do.”

  Craig made no attempt to conceal a deep sigh. “Doctor Atwell, you’re human too. You worked with the man for years. Am I to conclude these are your only thoughts on why Jude met an untimely death?”

  Picking up his briefcase, Lloyd retorted, “I see no call for you to take that tone with me and as I said, I’m needed at home.”

  Hurrying past Craig, Lloyd Atwell exited his own office.

  18

  Meadow Cottage

  Craig likened the meadow bordering Mark’s home to a satin purple throw. On closer inspection, the countless perfectly formed bell-shaped flowers revealed themselves.

  Hearing raised voices, the detective slowed his walking.

  “With all due respect, Lady Abbott Rigg,” Mark Stone voiced with forced patience. “I think I’ve lived in the country long enough to know cow shit when I see it!”

  Craig rounded the corner in time to see Tracy Abbott Rigg’s eyebrows shoot upwards. “Well rarrly!”

  “What I would really like you to do, is have one of your farmhands remove it. Better yet, you could do it yourself.”

  Lifting her chin, Lady Abbott Rig said, “Of all the … you expect me to, Freckles and I, are admitting to nothing.”

  “This is not a court of law,” Mayor Stone reasoned. “I just want it gone.”

  Hoisting a handbag strap over her shoulder, Tracy replied, “If you needed help, you should have said so. I’ll send Thomas over, post haste.”

  The mayor rolled his eyes as Tracy, straightening a large straw hat, tottered off on four-inch heels.

  Trying to hide his amusement at the overheard conversation, Craig approached the mayor.

  “My neighbor!” Mark stated, nodding in the direction of Tracy’s departing form. “She was trying to convince me this,” he pointed at a steaming pile to his left, “was the product of one of my dogs.”

  Craig motioned towards a paddock beyond the bluebells. “I guess that’s the culprit."

  “Lady Abbott Rigg’s prize-winning cow,” Mark explained. “She escapes at least twice a month and always chooses my front doorstep to disgrace herself.” Shaking his head, he continued, “But you didn’t come here to talk about cows, did you, Detective Monroe?”

  “I was wondering why you haven’t stopped by the station.”

  “Oh, that’s right, palm prints. Sorry, it slipped my mind. Come on in. Cup of tea?”

  Craig stepped inside Mark’s thatched cottage. “Why not.”

  Leading his guest into a gazebo-shaped sunroom, Mark said, “I’m not getting the need for palm prints. The word around Mead is, the doctor took his own life.”

  “Why would a good-looking, successful doctor with no documented health issues, want to end his life?” Craig called out towards the kitchen.

  Rejoining his guest, a mug in each hand, Mark said, “I don’t have the answer to that one.”

  “As mayor, you interact with many Mead residents. Do you know who might have wished Jude dead?”

  A decidedly twisted smile spread across Mark Stone’s face. “You’ll need to be a little more specific. Wish him dead or kill him dead?”

  Meeting Mark’s eyes, Craig said, “Kill him dead.”

  Mark shrugged his shoulders. “Can’t help you ther
e, I’m afraid.”

  Craig scowled. “Okay, wished him dead.”

  The twisted smile returned. “You might want to get your pen and pad out, Detective.”

  19

  Mead House

  Craig looked around the living room while Margaret made a production of pouring tea. The Atwells appeared to have the best of everything. Persian rugs dominated the hardwood floors, and Tiffany lamps graced every well-polished table.

  Offering Craig, a plate of miniature cakes, Margaret Atwell said, “I’m not sure I can be of any help to you, Detective. It was my husband who worked with Jude.”

  “True, Mrs. Atwell. Although sometimes when we work closely with a person, we fail to notice the little things. Things someone such as yourself may see.”

  “I am quite in tune with people,” Margaret replied with a smug smile. “Much more so, than my husband.”

  Struggling to fit a finger through the tiny handle of his teacup, Craig said, “I don’t doubt it. Tell me, Mrs. Atwell, was Jude Ryland well-liked in the village?”

  “Please, call me Margaret.”

  Craig smiled and nodded.

  Smoothing a crease in her linen skirt, she continued, “Absolutely not. He was such an arrogant man, and everyone knew Lloyd was the only real doctor in this village. More tea, Detective?”

  Craig looked at his untouched cup. “No. Thank you. Mrs … I mean, Margaret. This arrogance you mention, did he treat all Mead residents in this manner?”

  Twisting a large diamond ring on her left hand, Margaret continued with her own chosen subject. “We were very patient with him. Jude was a good deal younger than Lloyd. My dear husband took him under his wing, so to speak, and only five years later made him a partner. Back then he was hard working and took direction from Lloyd. A few years into the partnership he got lazy and careless. As a result, poor Lloyd suffered through two lawsuits.”

  Aware this sad tale may take a while, Craig interjected, “That’s very unfortunate. May I ask, do you believe he committed suicide?”

  “I heard he was in debt up to his eyeballs. Lloyd is due to retire soon. He informed Jude he planned on liquidating his share of the partnership. Due to the money lost from malpractice suits, Lloyd suggested he have a bigger share. But, disappointingly, Jude did not agree. I’m sure it all became too much for him. He could have had no doubt we’d win the case in court. This is all conjecture of course.”

  “Of course,” Craig replied. “Your husband had mentioned women problems. Were you aware of multiple women in Jude’s life?”

  Margaret pursed her lips as if she found the subject quite distasteful. “Cynthia was on again off again. I always had the feeling it was him wanting to break it off, but she wouldn’t go away. She’s latched herself onto a few men since the mayor, but it was only her relationship with Jude that appeared to rattle Mark Stone.”

  Craig ate his cake in one bite. “Anyone other than Cynthia?”

  “Apart from Miss Bennett?”

  “Miss Bennett?” Craig repeated.

  Margaret scowled. “Yes, Sydney or Syd as everyone likes to call her.”

  Feeling his face color, Craig asked, “Sydney and Jude were seeing each other?”

  “She doesn’t seem the type to date a mature man, does she?” Margaret returned with a satisfied smile. “This village is not what it seems, Detective. I’m sorry to say you have your work cut out for you in Mead.”

  ****

  Margaret watched the departing detective. When he’d turned the corner, she glanced at the mantle clock. It would be at least an hour until her husband’s return.

  Ascending the staircase, she entered her large dressing room.

  Lifting a heavy fur coat from the furthest most corner, Margaret placed it on the bed. Hidden within the garment’s confines, she found a worn leather messenger bag.

  The early letters seemed silly now. Why had she wasted her attention on such an unworthy man? Clearly, he preferred the company of girls rather than self-assured, confident women. Standing up, Margaret walked over to her full-length mirror. Turning sideways and holding her stomach in, she smiled at her reflection. What a good-looking couple they would have made. Sighing, Margaret once again sat on the edge of her bed. Three, four, five letters, she counted. Five opportunities to be with a woman who appreciated his talents. A woman who could make him happier than he’d dreamed possible. Why had he embarrassed himself and her with such silly females? The final piece of correspondence evoked a rare giggle. How dramatic, like something out of a movie. It had taken her an entire afternoon to cut each letter out of her Vogue magazine. I KNOW WHERE YOUR MOTHER IS HIDING. YOU ARE A WORTHLESS DOCTOR AND A WORTHLESS MAN. SIGN YOUR SHARE OF MEAD SURGERY OVER TO THE ONLY REAL DOCTOR IN TOWN, AND YOUR MOTHER STAYS OUT OF PRISON.

  Margaret placed the, now, empty messenger bag on the highest shelf in her dressing room. Letters in hand, she walked downstairs.

  Hating to do it, because it messed with her manicure, she lit coals in the marble fireplace.

  Placing each letter in the flames, she watched them burn. Promises and declarations were now, as Jude would soon be, nothing more than ashes.

  20

  The Dying Duck

  “So, Detective Monroe, to what do I owe this pleasure?”

  “Sydney, I’m so hoping you can help me learn more about Jude Ryland. The Mead residents I’ve spoken with thus far are peculiarly reticent. Nobody seems to care that he’s dead; it's just another day in the country.”

  Tears stinging her eyes, Sydney hastily looked down at the menu. “We should probably decide what we’re eating.” Still focused on the traditional lunch choices, she added, “I’m sorry you’re having a tough time.”

  “I got more cooperation from the drug dealers on the streets of Manchester!” Craig confided.

  Placing her menu down, Sydney responded, “Yikes. That bad hey?”

  “This is what I know,” Craig began. “He was an only child, never married and no children. His mother’s dead, and there’s no record of his father. He attended two different boarding schools before going to university. He went to med school in Glasgow, did his internship in Surrey and stayed there as a General Practitioner for another two years. Then moved to Mead where he began a partnership with Lloyd Atwell. None of these facts help me determine why the poor man is no longer living. The quarrel we overheard at the garden party certainly requires closer scrutiny now. Cemeteries and prisons contain many victims of love triangles, but my gut tells me it’s more complicated than that. Do you think Tracy was making a move on Jude Ryland?”

  Turning her head towards the bar, Syd replied, “It seems unlikely, but I guess it’s possible. Have you talked to Cynthia? Gosh, where’s our waitress? I’m famished.”

  “I would love to. But unfortunately, she left for the south of France yesterday. According to her mother, it was a planned holiday, but she has no idea where Cynthia’s staying.”

  “That does make it tricky,” Sydney acknowledged, before smiling at the approaching waitress.

  Their orders taken, Craig said, “From what I’ve heard, Cynthia and Jude had little to do with each other this last year. Mead residents have mentioned other women in the doctor’s life. But I find no real evidence of them.”

  Sydney leaned away from the table to allow the waitress room to deliver a basket of bread rolls. “Who led you to believe they existed?”

  “You think it’s just malicious gossip?”

  “I can’t answer that question until you tell me who said it.”

  Butter knife mid-air, Craig said, “Lloyd Atwell for one. What is with that man? He acts like he didn’t know Jude, despite them being business partners for almost two decades.”

  “Lloyd knew him from a professional standpoint,” Sydney explained. “Jude didn’t play bowls, golf or bridge, so Lloyd would have little information regarding his private life.”

  “What about his wife, Margaret? Would she be privy to Jude’s interests outside of the surgery?”r />
  Sydney paused for the arrival of food. “Now there’s the malicious gossip you mentioned.”

  “Is Margaret, Mead’s official teller of tales?” Craig asked with a grimace.

  “Oh, I think a few are vying for that title.”

  Taking his frustration out on a bread roll, Craig implored, “Please, Sydney, tell me something personal about Jude Ryland.”

  “He was a very private man. Three years ago, when I first met him, we got off to a bad start. But over the last year, we came to understand each other better. I think he had a few flings over the years which, in a small village, is enough to make you a virtual Genghis Khan.”

  “Is it true his relationship with Cynthia bothered the mayor?”

  “What Mark seems to forget,” Sydney began, “is that when Cynthia wants something or someone, she’s very determined. How he can blame Jude, when he himself fell for her charms, is beyond me. Jude had no idea how adversely it would affect Mark. The two men barely knew each other. As soon as Jude heard how upset the mayor was, he tried to end it with Cynthia. Unfortunately, when Cynthia learned of Mark’s anguish, she refused to let it end.”

  “Margaret Atwell suggested Cynthia hooked up with several men since she, and Mark divorced. Any idea why it was only her and Jude’s relationship that disturbed the mayor?”

  Lifting a forked chip in the air, Sydney asked, “Is contemplation on what that woman spouts worth our time?”

  “There’s no love lost between you and Margaret Atwell?”

  “Every year Margaret organizes a trip to London,” Sydney responded. “Roughly fifty Mead residents board a coach, have a meal and then see a West End show. For some inexplicit reason, I wasn’t invited this year. At the beginning of October, I coordinate a coat drive, have done for the last three years. Just last month, Judge Beauchamp, who's president of the village committee, told me my services were no longer required.”