The Secluded Village Murders

by Shelly Frome

  A bunch of hands shot up.

  “Yes indeed. So pose pretty, Miss Emily, and we’ll scoot in before the tardy bell rings. Then Miss Emily will tell us all about her trip and what she’s going to bring back for show-and-tell. And, as an added bonus, how she’s going to take all of you on a hike up on the high meadow and compare our nice woodland trails with the wild moors when she gets back.”

  Checking her watch, Emily watched Babs snap away. She didn’t know how to break it to her that not only was she not going to accompany the kids into the school, but she needed to get Babs on board with her strategy in time to get back to her car, drive to the airport, park in the long-term lot, check her baggage, go through security, and get in touch with Will. All before she got on the plane.

  “Yes, I’ll bring you some pictures,” Emily said.

  “And then what?” the towheaded twins shouted back.

  “I’ll tell you all about the wild, rocky moors.”

  “And then what?” all the others chimed in, catching on to the game.

  Any other time Emily would have played along. But the blue sky and the overly cute kids were beginning to get to her. Like a Disney world where everything was sunshine and roses in contrast to all she was going through.

  Luckily, Ms. Flustered piped in with a high-pitched, “Now, now, class. Have you noticed no more children have been dropped off? What does that mean?”

  “We’re gonna be late!” The line of children shot toward the entrance. Ms. Flustered was barely quick enough to yank open the glass-paneled doors.

  Fumbling with her camera gear, Babs tried to elbow Emily inside. “Go on. Move it, missy, before this whole thing folds. Thanks to you, we’ve hardly got started.”

  Emily pulled away, but before she had a chance to explain, Babs said, “Okay, Ryder. Let’s have it. What is going on?”

  “The Curtises were scheduled to depart for Bath tomorrow but Harriet Curtis skipped town yesterday. Her stay in London and who knows what-all might be underwritten by the GDC.”

  Babs’s beady eyes locked. “Well, now. There’s a story in it, right? Light years beyond this cutesy shtick. That’s what you’re finally, damn well telling me.”

  “Can’t say exactly. First, I need to hear from Will.”

  “Oh, it’s ‘Will’ now. No longer ‘the guy working for my mom.’ Since when do you play it so cagey? Talk to me, lady. Hear from Will about what?”

  Emily checked her watch again.

  “It’s called a lead, pal,” Babs went on. “Don’t do this to me. I had Chris Cooper about to let on about some major loophole right before he—”

  “What loophole? What are you talking about?”

  “Never mind. I had this ace up my sleeve, but I wasn’t ready to show my hand yet. So quit jerking me around.”

  Skip, the matronly crossing guard, came by to see what the fuss was about. When they both reassured her there was no problem, Skip nodded and returned to her post.

  The morning sun continued to glare down on them as cars passed by along the main street. They both waited for Skip to look away.

  Emily couldn’t bring herself to tell Babs about Chris’s passing. She would surely break down, losing her momentum.

  Anticipating Babs’s protests about the kiddie shoot, Emily handed her a brochure illustrating fun family outings in the moorlands of Dartmoor, plus a list of other spots Emily could take them and their parents to.

  Babs grudgingly accepted the material with the usual rejoinder. “This is really gonna cost you, pal. I am talking big time.”

  “Look, I’ll give you a call right before the short hop to Kennedy Airport.”

  “A juicy call. One spilling over with implications.”

  “We’ll see.”

  “We’re talking proliferating developments and late breaking news.”

  “I said we’ll see.”

  Emily left Babs shaking her head and hurried back to her car. Before long, she was on the way to the airport, taking the shortcut east through Paradise Valley. She failed to notice the dappled lanes with their gentle backcountry dips and curves, failed to even recall how carefree this ride was during this bright, late summer day. It may as well have been yesterday, under a veiled, low-hanging mist.

  Chapter Ten

  After Emily left, Will Farrow drove directly to the McMansion on North Lake Road. He parked in the circular drive, lowered the tailgate of his pickup and let Oliver spring free. “All right now,” he called out. “But you stay close by this time.”

  Will watched as Oliver scampered around through the stone archway of the McMansion and back again, around the pickup and the circular drive, sniffing the grass on the verge and through the archway once more and on to the side of the building. Satisfied Oliver couldn’t get beyond the fenced-in property, Will climbed up the aluminum ladder and took a closer look.

  Several stories high, to his right, the slate ran across the main expanse of the roof as if it had recently been fired-up, polished, shipped from the factory, and laid down. To Will, the rest of the house looked pre-fab, including the copper flashing and gutters and the cone-shaped turret topped by a weathervane. The only thing that appeared well-crafted was the slate around the turret with its greenish oxidized cast.

  He couldn’t help wondering who would fancy this mass of mock-masonry veneer, fake timber framing, crosshatched windows, and overblown space. Somebody who wasn’t affected by the fluctuations of the economy, probably. People who wanted to pretend they were still in England during the reign of so-and-so while enjoying all the modern conveniences as well. Or had this Miranda Shaw person had it built on spec, hoping to turn a quick profit and then got caught in the recent buyer’s market?

  Will had run into his share of her type from piloting ocean-going cabin cruisers. More often than not, it was a matter of what to do with all that spare cash. If this Miranda person had tired of hopping back and forth over the Atlantic, or if something else had turned sour while she was here, that might explain why she wasn’t around to tend to this place.

  High up on the ladder, Will still couldn’t see anything amiss to explain why she’d made a fuss over a leak while she was all the way back in the UK. Or why somebody had come by, called her, and caused her to insist that her roofer rush right over. What’s more, he’d gone down, found the front door unlocked, and assuming Chris or somebody had gained access, had entered, climbed the stairs to the eight-sided turret room at the top, and examined the hardwood floors, the oak writing table, and everything else. There was a faint watermark on a blotter, but that was all. No sign of any humongous leak from yesterday’s downpour.

  So what was this all about? What was somebody trying to pull?

  He climbed down once again and moved the ladder left, to the extreme edge where the half-stone, half-masonry archway met the near side of a second story bedroom. From this angle, the octagonal turret formed a third story like a fairy-tale tower where the princess waited for her knight in shining armor. As Will braced the ladder and made sure it was flush with the cement walkway, Oliver came tearing around again and sat at Will’s feet.

  “No, Oliver. Not yet.” Oliver didn’t budge. “I mean it now.” Will snapped his fingers. “No truck ride till this makes some kind of sense.”

  Will snapped his fingers and pointed this time. Oliver finally got the message and took off through the archway, back around the far side of the house. Truthfully, Will only wanted Oliver out of the way in case he came upon a loose slate tile that might tumble down.

  Emily had said that she caught sight of Chris by the turret window. Seconds later, he shook like crazy and slipped or something. Maybe he’d made his way from right to left all the way across, got tired of skirting around the chimneys, and was just plain worn out. Maybe in all that rain coming down he had reached for the weathervane on top of the turret, lost his footing, and that was that.

  But that version didn’t cut it either.

  Will took his binoculars with him as he climbed even h
igher toward the sill of the turret window. Emily had also mentioned it was a matter of pride that set Cooper off. A question of his workmanship. Fixing the slate just so on an eight-sided cone had to be really labor intensive. There sure wasn’t another turret like this anywhere else around. And that must have been the real reason he ended up here at this particular point.

  Will peered through the binoculars at a more difficult angle, one that Trooper Dave might have overlooked. He fixed on a spot where the power lines connected to the house, at a juncture above the narrow window to the far left. There he zeroed in on the connectors. Nothing different there, just your ordinary cube-shaped objects, bisected like a W and an M, split in two with the power lines fitted into the grooves.

  But then something caught his eye. The copper flashing directly beneath the connectors glinted in an odd sort of way. It did so, Will realized, because it was misshapen and flanged. As if somebody had leaned out the window, dug under it with a crowbar and pried it up and over, bending it into a kind of trough. And something else didn’t look right. A frayed piece of copper wire dangled from one of the connectors.

  Puzzled, Will clambered down the ladder once more and whistled. But Oliver didn’t come tearing back around the corner. Will called for him again and still no Oliver. Will drifted through the stone archway and down the side of the house between the walkway and the high wooden fence. He finally located Oliver at the rear by the far end digging furiously between some rhododendron bushes. Will tried to make him stop but Oliver was much too involved.

  Sticking his nose deep in the loose soil, Oliver kept at it till he came upon a burlap rag. Clutching it in his jaws, he shook the dirt loose, proudly wiggled his backside, and brought it over. Will accepted the prize without question. He unfolded the damp ragged cloth and uncovered a rusty crowbar and a long, coiled strand of copper wire, so thin that from any distance it was virtually invisible.

  Will swung by Roy’s Barbeque Pit on the outskirts of town. Bracketed by an old garage on one side and a rundown convenience store on the other, the trio of rustic, one-story buildings were dwarfed by the looming, southernmost edge of the Berkshires—still a dark forest-green on the first of September, overlooking the gurgling Housatonic close by, running deep and fast after all the rain.

  In a way, Roy’s was a refuge, reminding Will of a dozen places like it from Cutler Ridge and Homestead down to Key Largo, Tavernier, and Islamorada. But that wasn’t why he was here. It was the nearest place to call and get in touch with his pal Darryl, who worked for Florida Power and Light. As it happened, Darryl was on loan in Providence, Rhode Island, after the recent massive power outages from the electrical storm. Calling Darryl from Roy’s also made sense because the strains of country music in the background, along with the buzz and clink of bottles and glasses, always got Darryl into a folksy, tell-it-like-it-is mood. Calling from the stillness of the B&B would set Darryl off asking a dozen irrelevant questions about where Will was calling from, had he been sucked in by some snotty Yankees, and the like. Besides, at this time of morning, the brunt of the working guys wouldn’t be by for at least another hour, which left the phone booth free and clear.

  Will asked the frumpy waitress to turn the speakers down a tad. At the moment, some husky-voiced country gal was belting out over the air waves, “I’m tellin’ you, hon, better do me right; cuddle me close, all through the night.”

  It took Will three tries before he finally raised Darryl on his cellphone. A glance through the musty windows and calico curtains assured him Oliver was still okay, watching from the truck bed, enabling Will to focus on getting his facts straight.

  The trouble was that, despite the muffled country tunes, the clink of glasses, and the patter between the waitress and two old-timers in the background, Darryl wanted to start off with some small talk.

  “Come on, ol’ buddy,” said Darryl. “Don’t cut me short. The truth now. That divorcée down in Lauderdale was a looker and came with a seventy-foot cabin cruiser with a cherry wood salon, a portside lounge, a mother of a flybridge, stern thrusters, and I don’t know what-all. I say you tell her you really can be bought. ’Cause you can’t have nothin’ going for you up this-a-way.”

  “Mind if we get past this? I need some input.”

  “Don’t tell me. More woman trouble?”

  “Cut it out, Darryl. I am serious.”

  “Oh hell, the Will I know would let me tease him some.”

  “The Darryl I know would figure this is not the time.”

  “Okay, hold on.” Darryl shouted to somebody he’d be right there soon as he helped out a no-account buddy stuck in New England, down on his luck. Returning to the line, Darryl said, “All right, what can I do you for?”

  Will quickly ran the facts by him.

  Darryl was just as fast handing Will the verdict. “Was the ol’ man sweatin’?”

  “All I know was he was caught up there in a downpour.”

  “Well, hell, that ties it. It only takes fifteen milliamps to do the trick.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning, the second he touched that copper wire, he completed the circuit. He became the switch.”

  “You’re saying—”

  “I’m saying some clown shut off the power, rigged the dang thing, and then hit the circuit breaker. Knowing as soon as anyone spotted and examined the busted flashing, he’d take the charge. Add it up. Downpour, slate roof, soaking wet old man, power line, copper wire, and copper flashing.”

  “So it wasn’t the fall.”

  “It was the jolt and the heart attack. That’s why your girl saw him jerk back like that. The fall was extra. No charge there, if you pardon the pun.”

  Will found Resident Trooper Dave Roberts’s cruiser parked outside the regional high school by the gym. The bell had rung for the next period, but Roberts had a scrawny-looking teen with thick glasses by his side and wouldn’t let him go as though he was some kind of culprit. With his eyes darting back and forth toward his fleeing classmates, the boy eventually slipped away and sprinted through the central glass doors. The doors were covered with tape but rattled anyway.

  Will got out of the pickup, told Oliver to stay put, and intercepted Roberts as he slid behind the wheel of the cruiser.

  Roberts yanked down the visor and peered up behind his oversized sunglasses. Instantly, Will knew what he was dealing with. After Will mentioned what he had come across, it became impossible for Will to get another word in edgewise.

  “I’ll tell you what’s suspicious,” said Roberts. “I no sooner check into the accident when along comes a drifter with his dog offering me some handyman special. I have vandalism and breaking and entering to deal with at the moment. And I have neither the time nor the patience to put up with the likes of you.”

  “What are you telling me?”

  “What are you trying to wangle is the question. This your way of showing Emily you’re sharper than me? Or are you so bored you got nothing better to do? And even if you did get permission from the owner, planting stuff is not the way you want to go, believe me.”

  “That’s not what happened.”

  “Look, I think Emily has had enough.”

  “So you’re brushing me off?”

  “No sir. I’ll call Troop L right now. Tell my lieutenant what we need here is not a resident trooper. What we need is a deadbeat who can stir things up. Let’s face it, we just don’t have enough on our hands.”

  Will pulled back. His intention had been to pass the ball, get Roberts on the job, and keep Emily posted. But Roberts was buying none of it. Maybe because he was sweet on Emily. Maybe he didn’t want to appear careless and sloppy. Or maybe he was locked into the cracked glass doors of the high school and juvenile offenders. It wouldn’t surprise Will if Roberts’s next move would be to cite him for criminal mischief and claim Will had no business letting Oliver dig up Miranda Shaw’s shrubbery. And then, likely as not, decide to plant false evidence in a burlap bag.

  Holding his temper,
Will said, “It was just that Emily mentioned you wanted a shadow cast. If the copper wire and all won’t do it for you, what will?”

  “I never told her I wanted a shadow cast or for somebody to dig something up. I said I could do something if there was something like a statement from an eyewitness. Or somebody who didn’t have an ulterior motive. You follow?”

  That did it. Will stepped away from the cruiser.

  As if covering his tracks, especially as Emily was concerned, Roberts added, “You see, the thing of it is, there’s nothing she can do about the developers. That’s up to Brian Forbes and the Planning Commission. There’s nothing she can or could’ve done for Chris Cooper. Which leaves her with getting through the stupid Twinning thing and getting back here and on with her life. With a business that makes some kind of sense.”

  Will didn’t respond.

  As he headed back to his truck, Roberts called out, “Oh, in case you’ve got any further ideas, I’m going to put in a word at the station. The dispatcher hates nuisance calls. But if something comes up that has no tie-in with Emily, you be sure to run it by me and I will surely take it under advisement.”

  “I will keep that in mind,” said Will, mostly to himself.

  Will drove off and arrived back at the B&B with a few minutes to spare, but still wasn’t sure how he was going to break the news to Emily when she called. He couldn’t lie to her, but he didn’t want her spinning her wheels over this either. In the end, he decided to tell her what he’d found and, as offhand as possible, relay Darryl’s notions. They could deal with the ramifications when she returned to the states.

  He got out of the pickup, still thinking about what to say to Emily, when he was confronted by first one visitor and then another who, doubtless, were about to throw another monkey wrench into the works. While fending off each in turn, he worried about how Emily was going to handle what she already had to deal with on her tour and all, not counting his news about something iffy he’d just come across back home, and now more troublesome stuff that just wouldn’t quit. Including this pushy guy and this broker lady.