by B. T. Lord
Copyright© Bety Comerford (B.T. Lord)
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
No part of this book may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.
ISBN-13: 978-1981564361
ISBN-10: 1981564365
Cover Art by Grace Currier
Cover Design by Alison Ouellette
Other books in the Twin Ponds Mystery Series:
Murder on Ice
Murder by Misadventure
A Perfect Case of Murder
Murder by Duplicity
Murder To Die For (a free Twin Ponds novella available only on my website – www.btlordwriter.com)
To
Dave B.
Great tracker and walking stick maker
PROLOGUE
Late September
Maniacal laughter echoed throughout the forest. The high pitched cackle, filled with malice and anger, warned whoever ventured into that part of the woods to beware. To proceed with caution. To avoid discovering the evil they were perpetuating.
Or so Mandy Everett believed.
The eighteen year old teenager slowly walked down the wide path that wound its way through the dense trees. With each step, her desire grew to strangle her boyfriend Roy. It was his fault she was here today, walking alone, feeling so vulnerable.
He’d convinced her the day before to take their mountain bikes down this path in order to find the perfect spot to have a picnic. She should have known better. Picnic to Roy meant let’s get naked and fool around. Ordinarily, she wouldn’t have minded. She liked fooling around with Roy as much as he liked fooling around with her. However, there was something about this part of the forest that spooked her. She didn’t know what it was – couldn’t describe the feelings that crept up her spine even if she wanted to. Even the beauty of the fall foliage – the gorgeous reds and oranges of the trees that surrounded her did nothing to quell her unease.
Looking about her now, there really wasn’t anything she could point to and say, this is what completely freaks me out. But the feeling was there. Which is why when they got off their bikes and he made a play for her, she pushed him off, resulting in a good-natured wrestling match. It wasn’t until she arrived home later that day that she realized she’d lost the bracelet her grandmother had given her for her sixteenth birthday. The strand of amethyst stones had always meant a great deal to her, more so since Nana passed away shortly after gifting her the jewelry. Now it was lost, and the forest was the only spot she could think of where it could have fallen off her wrist.
When she asked Roy to come with her, he refused. He worked at one of the local farms and early September through October was their busiest season. He promised to accompany her that week-end to search for the bracelet. But Mandy was concerned someone would find it in the intervening days. Fall foliage always brought busloads of people traipsing through these woods to ooh and aah over nature’s spectacular colors. She always thought it a bit macabre that people got so excited over autumn leaves. Didn’t they know the leaves were changing colors because they were dying? To her, it was like oohing and aahing at a funeral. But hey, the leaf-peepers brought revenue to the town, and to the farm where Roy worked. If they wanted to spend their weekends (and their wallets) gawping at dying leaves, who was she to complain?
However, with the loss of her bracelet, all these people presented a problem. She was convinced one of them would stumble upon the piece of jewelry. It would then be gone forever, just like her Nana. She couldn’t let that happen. So here she was, venturing alone further into a forest that scared her half to death.
The cackling didn’t help her nerves. Ever since she’d arrived, she’d noticed the dozens of crows sitting in the trees, filling the air with their frightful screeching. She’d never seen so many before. Their sleek black bodies silhouetted against the sky were downright spooky. And completely unnerving.
Mandy shuddered, but pushed herself forward. The sooner she found the bracelet, the sooner she could get out of this wretched place.
The path opened up to a large clearing. Nearby, a stream, fortified by recent rainstorms, rushed past, its sound mercifully drowning out the crows. She walked towards the area where she and Roy had playfully grappled the day before. She could still see their scuff marks and bicycle tracks near a small hedgerow of shrubs. Squatting down, she began to poke around. After a few moments of diligent searching, she let out a thankful cry when she found the bracelet dangling from one of the shrub’s lower-lying branches.
“Ah, there you are!” she squealed in delight.
Her loud exclamation abruptly scattered a dozen crows from the other side of the hedgerow. Their wings flapped noisily in unison as they joined their brethren in the trees above. The flock’s deafening cawing increased as though they were crying out against her intrusion into their patch of woods.
She looked up in awe. The trees branches were covered with crows, their screeches coming at her from all sides. Curiosity now replaced fear as Mandy wondered what it was they’d been up to on the other side of the hedgerow. And why there were so many in that one spot.
Shoving the bracelet into her pocket, she took the path that wound its way through the shrubs. She knew it led to a smaller clearing and beyond that, a wooden bridge that spanned the stream.
Not sure what to expect, Mandy came round the shrubs and paused. Her gaze roamed the area. Suddenly, she uttered a strangled cry. She turned to run and screamed when she saw what she’d almost stepped on.
The remains of a white bird lay on the ground, its eyes pecked out, its sleek body bloodied from an attack of dozens of beaks tearing it apart.
Before she could stop herself, Mandy bent over and vomited.
When she was done, she ran blindly down the path, desperate to get away. Behind her, the crows’ shrieks grew louder, mocking her for disturbing their torture of the white bird. And of the woman who lay still a few yards away, no longer able to protect herself against their onslaught.
CHAPTER ONE
“Okay, that’s one for the Creepy files. A dead white crow lying near a dead white woman wearing white, while all around us black crows are having a fit. What are the odds of that happening?”
Deputy Rick Belleveau stood a few feet away from the two bodies, swiveling his head from one to the other. His long black hair, tied in a ponytail, danced back and forth against his back each time he moved his head. Occasionally he looked up at the black crows, scowling at their infernal racket.
His boss, Sheriff Cammie Farnsworth also looked up warily at the crows. Not only because of their incessant cawing, but because she’d just had her uniform dry cleaned. The last thing she needed was a spurt of bird shit to end up on her shoulder.
“Do you have any idea what has them riled up?” she called out to Rick.
He shook his head. “I’ve never seen so many crows together in one place. Maybe whoever this woman was interrupted some kind of crow convention. I know I’d be squawking if somebody died right in the middle of one of my conventions.”
“Did he really just say these crows are having a crow convention?”
Cammie looked down at the short man kneeling over the body of the woman. He was dressed in white coveralls and was in the middle of his examination. Dr. Samuel Westerfield, town doctor and county coroner had his owlish green eyes turned up towards her.
“Yes, he did,” she answered.
She waited for him to utter an acid bon mot that would completely shred Rick. Instead, he shook his head disdainfully before turning his attention back to the body.
Saved by the corpse, she thought to herself.
After getting the hysterical phone call from Mandy, she’d called Doc, followed by a phone call to Forensics. She and Rick then hurried to the scene where she interviewed the distraught young woman while Rick roped off the area.
Having flown in by helicopter, the Forensics team was scouring the woods for anything that could explain what happened. Occasionally they too glanced up at the crows, their faces showing their annoyance at the deafening cawing of the birds.
“I suppose I could shoot my gun and scatter them,” she mused.
“That’s exactly what we want,” Doc remarked. “A hundred birds scared to death, taking flight directly over us. Do I need to remind you what happens when a bird is frightened?” She glanced down at her spotless uniform and took the hint.
“She looks vaguely familiar,” she said as she watched Doc work. “I think I may have seen her at Zee’s.” Looking down at the body, she saw a petite woman who stood no more than 5 ft. 2 inches tall. She appeared to be in her early fifties, with white blonde hair and manicured nails, dressed in a light beige vest over a cream colored sweater and white slacks. She wore minimal make-up, but she looked to be the type of woman who didn’t need make-up to enhance her natural beauty. Sadly, that beauty was marred by several tiny bloodied wounds on her cheeks and hands. Near where she fell was a pair of binoculars lying in the dirt.
“Are those wounds to her face what I think they are,” Cammie asked.
“Another reason not to shoot off your gun,” Doc answered. “We don’t need the crows attacking us.”
She glanced up once more at the birds. “I read somewhere that Vancouver was experiencing a rash of crow attacks. But that’s during their nesting season, which runs from April through July. It’s too late in the year for them to be protecting nests.”
“Just one more mystery of nature.” He leaned over the woman and opened the small purse strapped diagonally across her chest. “This should help identify her.” He withdrew a wallet and handed it to Cammie, who’d had the foresight to slip on a pair of latex gloves as soon as her interview with Mandy was done. “There’s also a cell phone in here. I’ll get one of the techs to bag it.”
“Thanks.”
Cammie examined the wallet, noting it was made of expensively tooled black leather. Snapping open the catch, she saw the vestiges of a modern life – several credit cards, a medical ID card and a driver’s license peering up at her through the plastic window. The smiling face matched that of the dead woman.
That’s the only license photo I’ve ever seen that actually makes her look good.
She shuddered at the thought of hers, convinced it made her look twenty years older and twenty pounds heavier than she really was. Next, she withdrew the cash and counted two hundred dollars in twenty dollar bills. She replaced the cash and digging deeper, found a small photograph in amidst the plastic cards. She pulled it out and saw the victim smiling back at her. She had her arm around the shoulders of a teenage girl who was also smiling at the camera. The resemblance between the two was so strong, Cammie guessed she was looking at a mother with her daughter. Flipping over the photograph, written in neat cursive writing were the words, ‘My darling Hannah – 5/1/1995 – 7/4/2014’.
Cammie shook her head in sympathy. If this was indeed the dead woman’s daughter, it must have been heartbreaking for her to lose her child.
As a police officer, she’d met death in all its destructive guises. However, the most difficult situation, and one she hated the most to deal with, was to inform a parent of the death of their daughter or son. Despite the years and the dozens of cases involving the loss of a child, Cammie still couldn’t wrap her mind around the bottomless pit of pain and anguish in the aftermath of such a life shattering event.
She felt a pang of pain in her own heart. The anniversary of her mother’s death was in two weeks. Perhaps because of the approaching date, she’d been very much in Cammie’s thoughts. Theirs had never been an easy relationship for various reasons that all led back to her father. Yet that never stopped Cammie from loving her deeply. And from having those moments, when she least expected it, of missing her so much and wishing things had turned out differently between them that it almost brought her to her knees. Seeing this picture and reading the dates brought back a rush of emotions and memories that threatened to crush her. Taking a deep breath, she pushed her own sentiments aside and forced herself to focus on the job at hand.
Hopefully you’re reunited now, she thought silently to herself as she slid the photograph into her pocket. She took out the license and studied it.
“It says here her name is Poppie Beresford,” she told Doc. “She lives in the village of Mategwas. Hmmm. That’s two hours away.”
“Why does that town sound familiar?”
“It’s at the northern most point of Clarke County,” Cammie explained. “The population is only about 400 people. We passed through it on our way back from your late aunt’s home.”
Doc nodded and turned away, but not before Cammie noticed his jaw tighten. His reaction didn’t surprise her.
Doc’s aunt had been murdered several months before, dragging Cammie into an investigation that not only eventually revealed the name of the killer, but also revealed secrets in Doc’s life she knew he would have preferred to keep hidden. Yet, in a strange way, despite his loathing to share anything of his past, the revelation of these secrets brought them closer together. Now when he insulted her, there was a touch of affection to his words.
He slowly got to his feet. Removing his round, wire rimmed glasses, he withdrew a tissue from his pocket and wiped the lenses.
“You said Mandy Everett found the body at approximately 9 am?”
“That’s correct.”
“By the condition and temperature of the body, I’d say Poppie Beresford was killed no more than an hour before the girl discovered her.”
“That makes sense. Sunrise was around 8 am this morning. She certainly wasn’t going to be out in these woods in the dark.”
“I agree. As to cause of death, she was shot in the back. The autopsy will need to back me up, but from the location of the entrance wound, I wouldn’t be surprised if the bullet went straight through her heart. That points to the killer being either an excellent marksman or just plain lucky.”
“So you don’t think the killer came up directly behind her?”
“I’m not seeing a lot of gunshot residue near the entrance wound that would indicate a point blank shot. I’ll have a more definitive answer for you once I get back to my lab and begin my examination.”
Cammie glanced around at the dense woods. “I wonder what brought her out here at such an early hour.”
“Whatever it was seemed to require the use of those binoculars.”
“I noticed. From their position to the body, it looks like she was holding them when she was shot. So my next question is, what brought her to travel two hours to Twin Ponds?”
“Maybe she was here for the crow convention.” She threw him a look. Doc slipped his gloved fingers into the pocket of Poppie’s white slacks and withdrew a key. “Maybe Tudor can tell you why she’s here.”
Cammie took the keychain and saw the logo of the Shakespeare in the Woods Inn – a beautiful establishment nestled in the woods that looked exactly like William Shakespeare’s birth home. Only supersized. It was owned by a flamboyant British ex-actor by the name of Tudor Montgomery.
Despite being located pretty much in the middle of nowhere, on the outskirts of a town that was pretty much in the middle of nowhere, the inn was always booked months in advance by the Bard enthusiasts who returned each season to see Tudor’s spectacular production of a Shakespeare play. Even if they weren’t fans of the plays, the déco
r inside the inn was enough to attract guests year after year. The lobby resembled a huge Tudor-style home, with exposed wooden beams and a large welcoming fireplace. The guest rooms were each done up in the style of one of the famous plays, adding a whimsical ambience to an already magical place. Cammie saw Poppie had been staying in Room 12. If she remembered correctly, that was the Merchant of Venice room. Its walls were painted with murals of the Venetian canals and the furniture was carved with the motif of wine producing grapes. Above the headboard, written in flowing script upon the wall were the familiar words, spoken by Portia during Act IV, Scene 1:
The quality of mercy is not strain’d,
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath
It struck her as sadly ironic that Poppie was staying in the room that spoke so beautifully of mercy, yet none had been shown to her.
“Here’s something else you might find interesting,” Doc continued. Bending down, he brushed Poppie’s hair away from her face. “There’s a mark on the side of her throat.”
Cammie studied the reddened blemish against the white skin. “What do you think that’s from?”
“I’m not sure yet. There’s something else as well. You see the earring?” Cammie leaned over and saw a large pearl surrounded by a circle of tiny diamonds in Poppie’s earlobe.
“Yeah, so?” she asked.
He gently pulled the victim’s face to the side. “The other one is missing.” Sure enough there was a hole in Poppie’s ear where the earring should have been. “Before you ask, I looked all around the body, but it’s not here.”
“I’ll ask the team if they found it.”
“And if they don’t find it?”
She gave him a level look as her stomach tightened at the dreadful thought. “Then it means the killer took it as a trophy.” Doc removed the earring and dropped it into an evidence bag before giving it to Cammie. “Do you think the diamonds are real?”
