by Tracy Donley
“Let’s get out of here,” said Jack. “We’ll head back out to the farm and eat those cookies.”
“Good idea,” said Charlie. “A really good snickerdoodle will set us all right.”
They switched off the lights and locked the door, leaving Sam’s house quiet and dark, and made their way down the front steps and walked along Maple Leaf Drive back in the direction of the courthouse.
“Wow,” said Charlie, pointing at the sky. “Would you look at that moon?”
A thin sliver of a moon glistened in the night sky, a sprinkling of stars scattered around it.
“Did you see that?” asked Rosemary suddenly.
“I saw it,” said Seth, smiling at the sky.
“What?” asked Jack.
“A shooting star,” said Rosemary. “So beautiful. Look! There’s another one!”
“And there’s another,” said Charlie, pointing. “I’ve never seen so many at once.”
“Almost like a sign,” said Jack, putting an arm around Rosemary.
“Do you think?” she asked, smiling at her friend, and then closing her eyes and turning her face back up to the glorious sky.
“I think that just like you, Hortence is smiling.”
26
The snickerdoodles didn’t disappoint. And they were perfect with a cup of warm milk, with just a hint of chocolate melting into it.
“I have decided that I will have this snack every night at bedtime from now on,” said Rosemary, biting into her second cookie.
“Good idea,” said Seth. “And now that I know how to make them…” He looked at Rosemary, then quickly looked down and smiled to himself.
“This has been quite an eventful evening,” said Charlie.
“Found a three hundred fifty-year-old confession and set a restless midwife’s soul at ease, as per usual?” said Jack.
“All in a night’s work,” agreed Rosemary, dusting crumbs from her fingers and picking up her mug.
“I’d better be getting home,” said Seth, standing to go. He looked down at Rosemary. “Walk me out?”
Rosemary smiled and nodded, getting up and following Seth to the door.
“Thanks for the best time ever, guys,” Seth called back to Jack and Charlie.
“Anytime!” Jack said.
Once outside, Seth took Rosemary’s hand.
“It’s getting chilly,” he said, as they walked toward his car.
“Charlie tells me storms could roll in tomorrow night, but then we can expect sunshine and clear skies Friday night for the festival.”
“And Charlie’s never wrong,” Seth laughed.
“Nope. He’s foolproof.”
“Jack’s never wrong, either,” said Seth, stopping and pulling Rosemary close.
“Is that so?” said Rosemary, smiling up at him.
“That is so,” Seth answered. “He told me you were wonderful. He told me you were beautiful. And he told me I should ask you out.”
“Well, you should, you know,” said Rosemary, feeling her heart kick up a notch.
“Rosemary?” he said softly. “Will you go with me to the Founders Day Festival this Friday night?”
“I’d love to.”
Seth brushed a strand of Rosemary’s hair out of her face, and then touched her cheek. When he bent to kiss her, softly and slowly, Rosemary felt a wave of warm energy run through her all the way to her toes. Then when Seth looked at her, grinning, his head still tilted slightly, the energy ran right back up to her heart.
“When I said I’d had the best time ever tonight?” he began.
“Yes?”
“I meant it.”
Seth brushed another lock of hair behind Rosemary’s ear.
“Me, too,” she said, laying her own hand on top of his.
“Do you think those guys are watching us from the window right now?”
“Most definitely.”
Seth laughed, opened his car door, and got in.
“See you tomorrow?” he asked, shutting the door and rolling down the window.
“Yes,” said Rosemary. “We’ll be at the memorial service for Sam in the morning—although after meeting Victoria tonight, I’m wondering if that will be more of a circus.”
“I’m going too. I’ll see you all there.”
Seth gave a little salute toward the front windows of the house, and when Rosemary turned to look, a curtain shifted back into place.
“They’re horrible!” she said.
“The worst,” Seth agreed.
When Rosemary went back inside, she looked around at the deserted living room.
“Jack? Charlie?”
“In the kitchen,” Jack called. “Where we’ve been all along, ever since the moment you and Seth went outside!”
“Right,” said Rosemary, glancing down to see Smudge, who had suddenly appeared and was sitting at her feet, blinking up at her with knowing green eyes.
“Hello,” she said, bending down to pat her on the head. “You know, I never would’ve ever thought in a million years that I’d voluntarily befriend a cat. I mean, no offense. And, well, you did make the first move. But you seem like a good soul.”
Smudge looked at her as if she was returning the compliment.
“Let’s go see if we can find you a treat,” Rosemary said, going to the kitchen, the kitten following at her heels.
Rosemary had slept like a rock that night and woke the next morning with pink light streaming into her window. She pulled on her robe, stepped into her slippers, and hurried into the kitchen. She wanted to be the one to make coffee for the guys today.
Soon, the smell of freshly brewed coffee must’ve wafted its way down the hall, because Jack emerged from his room and joined Rosemary in the kitchen.
“Good morning, sunshine,” he said. “You’re up early today.”
“I slept so soundly last night. I’m feeling refreshed and ready to go,” said Rosemary, pouring Jack a cup of coffee and setting the cream and sugar in front of him.
“You’re all aglow. Seems to me you’re in love,” Jack teased.
“Let’s not jump the gun, Cupid,” said Rosemary. “But I do have to admit, this time, you picked a good one.”
“This time? When have I ever led you astray?”
“You’re kidding, right? Remember that Bobby Stanforth? Junior year? And that guy, what was his name? Phillip Brunswick, when we were twenty-two?”
“Well, those didn’t count,” said Jack, waving her words away.
“I agree,” said Rosemary. “Those didn’t count.” She glanced out the huge kitchen windows. “The sunrise is glorious this morning. Let’s go out and sit on the dock,” she suggested.
“Great idea,” said Jack, grabbing his mug and following her to the door.
“Where’s Charlie?”
“Out for a run. He’ll be along shortly.”
They made their way down the gentle hill from the house to the pond, and snuggled up with their coffee in the Adirondack chairs overlooking the water. The sun was rising from behind them, but the clouds over the pond were turning a beautiful shade of deep pink, which was reflecting off the surface of the water, bathing the whole scene in pinks and mauves.
“This must be what it’s like to look at the world through rose-colored glasses,” said Jack.
Just then, Charlie jogged up.
“Good morning, all,” he said, punching a tiny button on his sports watch.
“Isn’t it, though?” said Rosemary, smiling up at him from her cozy chair.
“She’s in love,” sang Jack. “And the sunrise is incredible this morning!”
“That’s because a storm’s coming,” said Charlie.
“Are you kidding? It’s perfect out,” said Jack.
“Oh, I remember the rule: ’Pink sky in the morning, sailors take warning,’ right?” asked Rosemary.
“That’s right,” said Charlie. “Or some say, ‘Red sky in the morning, shepherds warning.’ But either way, it means the high pressure s
ystem has moved off, and a low pressure system is moving in. Don’t worry: by tomorrow’s festival, it’ll clear out.”
“That’s the main thing. We can check on our lanterns and everything early Friday, but they should be fine. They’re all waterproof. And the path through the cemetery is bricked, of course, so mud isn’t a big concern,” said Jack.
“Good thing,” said Charlie.
“So, are you having to cancel class this morning for Sam’s memorial?” Rosemary asked Jack.
“Just my ten o’clock. Hey, come have lunch with me and Seth today, okay?”
“Great. I wonder how long the service will go on,” said Rosemary.
“Why? Do you have a massage appointment to get to?”
“Ha, ha. Very funny. No. Just curious.”
“Right. I’m on to you, my friend,” said Jack, raising a brow at Rosemary. “I bet you’re just aching to read more of those scandalous confessions Reverend Josias took down.”
“Well . . .”
“Meanwhile, we should probably all have some breakfast and get cleaned up to go to the memorial service,” said Charlie.
They whipped up a big pot of oatmeal and stirred in things like almond butter, honey, yogurt, and walnuts, and made another pot of coffee. By the time Rosemary stepped into the shower, the sun was rising into a cloud-scattered sky.
Was it irreverent that she was looking forward to the memorial service? Seth would be there, for one thing. And as an observer of human behavior, Rosemary thought it would be interesting to watch the other people who showed up, to see what kinds of friends Sam had kept company with.
Not surprisingly, First Church was full to bursting well before the service began. Rosemary, Jack, and Charlie had found Seth outside, and they’d all slid into the back row on the right of the center aisle, with Jack sitting at the end closest to the aisle. Looking around at the crowd, which sat somewhat hushed and waiting respectfully, Rosemary couldn’t help but feel that Sam would’ve been pleased to have so many people come out to remember and celebrate his life.
“This is perfect,” whispered Jack. “I can see everyone from here.”
“Shhh!” said Charlie.
“But don’t you realize,” said Jack, leaning across Rosemary to talk to Charlie. “That the killer could be here?”
“That would require a high level of audacity,” said Seth, leaning over Charlie to talk to Jack.
“But the killer always goes to the funeral in movies,” whispered Jack. “They have to. They can’t stay away.”
“I bet Victoria Winthrop is hung over after last night’s bender,” said Rosemary. “Do you see her anywhere?”
“She’s got to be up front,” said Jack, straining to see. “Nope, she’s not there.”
“What about the Thatchers?” asked Rosemary. “Can you see them?”
Jack leaned slightly out into the aisle and scanned the pews.
“Yes. There’s Becky, way up front. But I don’t see Benedict.”
“He’s not with her?” asked Charlie. “That’s odd.”
“He looked awful last night,” whispered Seth. “Maybe he stayed home.”
“And missed his best friend’s memorial service?” asked Rosemary. “Doesn’t sound right. He’d have to be really sick.”
“Becky mentioned his heart. Maybe he had a heart attack or something,” said Seth, concerned.
“Look at Becky,” said Jack. “Well never mind. None of you can see her. But let me tell you, her shoulders are shaking, she’s crying so hard. Poor thing. Maybe something bad really did happen to her husband.”
“That, on top of Sam’s death might do her in,” said Rosemary, shaking her head. “She’s about ready to break down.”
“Excuse me. Can I squeeze in here?” Officer Harris approached their pew from the little side aisle on the end opposite Jack.
“Of course,” said Seth, and they all scooted further together.
“How’s it going, George?” asked Charlie.
“Tough night, if you want the truth,” George whispered.
“I like your uniform,” said Rosemary, leaning across both Charlie and Seth, and giving George a little wave.
“The whole force is wearing dress blues today, out of respect for the mayor.”
“Of course,” whispered Jack, peering to see the other officers present. “All four of you look very professional.” Then, leaning closer to Rosemary he explained, “The only reason Paperwick is up to four police officers is because one of them, Marleen Sanderson, was on maternity leave until a month ago, so they hired a stand-in. But then when Marleen came back to work, they just decided that all four could stay.”
George looked down the row and raised an eyebrow.
“I would go sit in the front with the rest of the force,” he said, “but I ran late. Had to stay at the office a bit longer. It’s been crazy down there ever since Mr. Thatcher turned himself in.”
“What was that, George?” Jack said, straining to hear. “I thought you said Thatcher turned himself in.”
“I did,” said George. “Late last night. He showed up around midnight. Confessed to involuntary manslaughter.”
“He killed Sam?” asked Rosemary in a loud whisper, amazed.
“I’d better not say anything else for now. But you’ll see it all in the paper.”
“I can’t believe this,” said Jack, forgetting to whisper.
“Shhh!” scolded Charlie. “The service is about to begin.”
“So was Ingrid released then, George?” asked Rosemary.
“Yes, Ms. Clark was released about an hour ago. Detective Weaser hadn’t found anything of interest when he searched her house, but was still holding her as a person of interest. But Mr. Thatcher’s confession changed everything.”
The organ suddenly came to life, playing a somber hymn, cutting short their conversation. Everyone stood as Reverend Bob processed up the aisle and turned to face the crowd.
“Please be seated,” he said as soon as the hymn came to a close.
There was a shuffling of shoes and a few whispers as the crowd settled in.
Reverend Bob looked out over the faces.
“We have come together today,” he began, in a booming voice that easily carried all the way to the back of the church, “to thank God for the life of Samuel Wright. As many of you know—"
Reverend Bob was interrupted by a blood curdling scream from the back of the church.
All heads turned to see Mrs. Potter, who had just burst in through the doors at the foot of the aisle, right next to Jack.
“Mrs. P!” said Jack, getting to his feet. “What’s happened?”
“Police! I need the police right away! She—she’s dead!” Mrs. Potter turned white as a ghost and wavered slightly.
Jack hurried into the aisle and took Mrs. Potter’s arm to support her.
“What are you saying? Who’s dead?” he asked.
“Victoria Winthrop! She’s dead!”
At this pronouncement, Mrs. Potter fainted into Jack’s arms. Jack, who wasn’t quite prepared to support Mrs. Potter in her entirety, sank slowly to the floor himself, as Rosemary, Charlie, Seth, and George hurried to help.
“At least you broke her fall,” said Charlie, kneeling down next to them and checking Mrs. Potter’s pulse.
“Help,” choked Jack in a raspy voice.
Meanwhile, the entire congregation had risen to its feet, and an alarmed buzz filled the church.
“Don’t panic,” Reverend Bob’s voice cut through the noise. “Let’s all go down the outside aisles into the churchyard in an orderly fashion! Officer Harris has the matter in hand.”
As most of the parishioners filed out, George knelt alongside Charlie, and together, they lifted Mrs. Potter enough so that a grateful Jack could slither out from under her.
“She’s coming to,” said George.
“Oh, Charlie, dear. It’s you,” Mrs. Potter said, her eyes fluttering open. “And George. Thank goodness.”
&
nbsp; “You said Victoria Winthrop is dead,” said George, taking out his trusty notepad. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, of course I’m sure. She’s as dead as dead can be! Help me up and we’ll go back to the Bed and Bakery. I’ll show you.”
They helped Mrs. Potter to stand and slowly made their way out of the church. What basically amounted to the entire population of the village was milling about in the churchyard by now. Reverend Bob was announcing that the service would continue at the graveside a few yards away, and that the police had “the other situation” under control. Of course, all eyes watched as George and another one of the officers present escorted Mrs. Potter out of the churchyard and down the street in the direction of Potter’s Bed and Bakery.
“That woman is solid as a rock,” said Jack, who had twisted his ankle slightly when Mrs. Potter had fainted on him.
“Can you believe this?” said Charlie. “Benedict Thatcher left Sam’s last night and went to the police and turned himself in? He killed Sam. Your instincts were right, Rosemary.”
“I can’t get over it,” said Seth. “That’s why he looked so sick. His conscience was getting to him.”
“Just like in the case of Matthew Graves and the telltale conscience,” said Jack.
“What about Victoria? Can you believe she’s dead? We just saw her. And sure, she was drunk. But what happened, and how did she go from being drunk to being dead?” asked Seth.
“The thing that keeps bothering me,” Rosemary said slowly, thinking about the night before, “is that Benedict Thatcher left us at Sam’s house around ten o’clock. George said he turned himself in around midnight. So, what was he doing for two hours in between?”
“He told Becky he had to do something, and he had to do it alone,” said Seth.
Rosemary nodded. “I know. But what if the thing he had to do was kill Victoria Winthrop?”
27
