Murder Among Crows Page 8

  “Answer the question please.”

  “Of course I knew she’d be in the woods. That’s why she drove all the way down here. She wanted to see the white crow and in order to see it, she’d have to be in the woods, wouldn’t she? But I had no idea what time she’d be there.”

  Cammie tried asking him the same question several different ways, but he kept to his story.

  “What was your relationship with Poppie?”

  “I told you. We were friends.”

  “What kind of friends?”

  He glared at her. “Just what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “Well, there are friends that are just friends. Then there are friends with benefits. Poppie was a very attractive woman. She was single. She lived alone. I’m sure a man as famous as you has women throwing themselves at you all the time. Is that what happened with Poppie? Is that why you made sure your wife wasn’t there when you invited her for dinner? Or was it the opposite? You found yourself attracted to such a lovely, cultured, sophisticated woman.”

  He stared at her in disbelief. “That’s insane! I love my wife. Poppie and I were just friends. And Meredith was there. She’ll tell you. It was a dinner, plain and simple. And we talked about damned birds!”

  “Why did you really move to Twin Ponds? And please don’t give me that crock about finding the perfect farmhouse. It takes a lot to run a farm.”

  To her surprise, he laughed. “I’m not going to be growing crops or raising cattle. The only animals I intend to have are a few chickens and a dog.” He sat back in his chair and crossed his arms. “Alright, Sheriff. Here’s the God’s honest truth about why I moved to Twin Ponds. I moved here because fans found out where I lived in Mategwas. I thought I’d be safe in that cow town, but they tracked me down. You have no idea what it’s like to walk out your front door and see a group of people standing in your front yard. It became impossible for Veronica and I to go out. I began to look for another place to live. When I saw the Jepson farm, I knew it was perfect. It’s set back far enough from the road that I don’t have to worry about fans finding it. And I’m having a fence installed that will keep the public off my land. I’m tired of having my concentration shattered by their insistence on autographs and pictures and what not.”

  Cammie and Rick continued their questioning, but after two hours, she had no choice but to let him go.

  “Who is he kidding?” she said after he’d gone. “He loves the devotion from the fans. I bet you my job that if they weren’t there, he’d be upset.”

  “Yeah, my thoughts exactly. He needs their attention the way we need air to breathe.”

  She looked at Rick. “Let’s see what Meredith has to say.”

  The two officers were shocked to see the deterioration in the woman’s face and demeanor when she showed up an hour later. She looked as though she’d aged overnight, and her entire body shook as she gripped the arms of the chair so tightly her knuckles were white.

  “Where were you and Poppie last Monday evening?”

  “I already told you. We’d gone to Aubrey’s for dinner.”

  “Was Veronica Gardiner there?”

  “Yes, she was.”

  “What did you talk about?”

  Meredith hesitated for so long, Cammie wondered what it was that had her wrestling with how best to answer the question. Finally, she shrugged. “I can’t really remember. Birds, I suppose. We always talked about birds whenever we got together so I’m sure that night wasn’t any different.”

  Cammie opened a folder that she had in front of her and withdrew a piece of paper. She pushed it towards Meredith.

  “If Veronica was at the dinner as you say, how do you explain that?” Meredith looked down at the Autumn Harvest Festival flyer. What little color she had drained from her face. Her eyes immediately took on a trapped look. “What did you really talk about that night, Meredith? What subject did the three of you discuss that you need to lie about Veronica Gardiner being there?”

  “The white crow. We talked about the white crow,” she stammered, licking her lips nervously.

  “Are you honestly telling us that you lied about Veronica being there because you were discussing the white crow? You know that makes absolutely no sense.” The woman’s breathing grew more rapid. “Come on, Meredith. Tell us the truth. What did the three of you discuss that night?”

  The woman looked as though she were about to start hyperventilating. Her eyes darted back and forth as she tightened her grip on the arms of the chair.

  Rick leaned forward. “We know you’re lying, Meredith. It’ll all go easier on you if you tell us what happened that night.” He leaned further. “Were you even there that night? Are you covering up for Aubrey and Poppie because it was actually just the two of them who had dinner that night while Aubrey’s wife was away? Or are you covering up for yourself? Because it was actually you and Aubrey who were alone at his home that night.”

  To the officers’ surprise, Meredith shot up out of the chair. “I can’t think straight,” she wailed as she tore her hands through her hair. “You’re attacking me and trying to deliberately confuse me. If you continue to harass me, I’ll call a lawyer!”

  She turned on her heel and ran out of the room, leaving Cammie and Rick to stare at each other in disbelief.

  “Wow, she certainly didn’t act suspiciously,” Rick remarked.

  “I think you hit on something with that last question.” Cammie stood up. “We need to dig deeper to find out more about Poppie and Aubrey. And the possibility of Aubrey and Meredith.”

  Rick grimaced. “No offense, Cam, but I can’t see Aubrey going for someone like Meredith. She’s just so…so…”

  “Meek? Mousy? Bland?”

  He nodded. “Pretty much. Now Poppie’s a different story. I can easily see him making a play for her.”

  “The way she reacted tells me something was going on between those three people and I’m determined to find out what it is.” She stood up. “I don’t have probable cause yet, but I’m going to see if I can convince Judge Drury to issue a search warrant for Meredith’s room at the inn and her home in Mategwas. I’ll also throw in Aubrey’s farm for good measure. In the meantime, I’m going to ask Emmy to pull up Meredith and Aubrey’s cell phone records. Maybe they’ll tell us something.”

  Cammie pulled every trick in the book she knew to convince the judge to issue the search warrant. Yet without some kind of evidence to point to those two being involved in the murder, she wasn’t surprised when he refused. She half listened to his lecture about her knowing better. When he paused to take a breath, she took the opportunity and fled.

  Back in the Explorer, she called each of her three part-time deputies, instructing them to keep Meredith under surveillance. She then called Rick. “I suggest you get a good night’s sleep. We’re setting off early tomorrow for Mategwas. There may be something there that can tell us what the hell is going on.”

  The next morning at 7 am, she and Rick drove to Houlton to get a copy of Poppie’s house key from Colin. They then continued on to Mategwas.

  Just as they’d seen on Google Maps, Poppie’s house stood isolated in a clearing surrounded by deep forest on three sides. Set back from the dirt road, it was a small white ranch, with neatly trimmed shrubs on either side of the walkway. Attached to the house was a garage. Cammie drove up the short driveway and parked in front of the garage doors. Getting out, the two officers walked around the back where they saw a large shed. Poking their heads in, they found a small snow blower under a tarp, garden tools and a half empty bag of potting soil piled on a table. Near the shed was a fenced in rectangular piece of land that served as Poppie’s vegetable garden. The tomato trellises were still up and Cammie noticed a few butternut squash still attached to the withering vines. With Poppie not here to gather the last of the squash, they were condemned to die during the first frost of the season.

  A lone tree stood between the house and the woods, several birdseed and suet feeders hangin
g from its lower branches. Standing near the back door to the ranch was a round metal table with its shade umbrella closed. Surrounding the table were four matching metal chairs.

  As Cammie stood there and took it all in, she could easily picture Poppie sitting out there on warm summer evenings, watching her beloved birds gathering at the feeders. Once again she was overcome with a sense of sadness as she looked at the garden and the chairs, knowing their owner was never returning. She inwardly sighed and turned to find Rick staring at her.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Nothing,” he replied.

  She narrowed her eyes at him, but he refused to say more. They walked back around to the front of the house and let themselves in.

  They were immediately struck by the cold temperatures inside the home. There was a wood stove and a stack of cut logs against the far wall, but without Poppie to heat the home, the air was chilly. Cammie pulled her collar up and shoved her hands in her pockets as her eyes roamed the area.

  It was an open concept home, with an island separating the kitchen from the living room. It was all very tidy and clean, showing that Poppie was a woman who liked everything in its place. It took Cammie a moment to realize the walls were bare. There were no photographs, or paintings. In fact, as she walked around the living room, she noticed there were no personal touches – nothing to show that a woman named Poppie Beresford lived there. The furniture was functional, giving no indication that their owner had once been wealthy.

  “Rick, what was Poppie’s financial situation?” Cammie asked.

  “Let’s just say her monthly alimony would be enough to keep me and my family happy for a long time. Why?”

  “Look at the furnishings. They’re run of the mill. It’s stuff you’d buy at an inexpensive furniture store.”

  “Maybe Poppie was cheap.”

  “Or maybe she just didn’t care. The only personal items I see in this entire living room are her two books on New England birds on the coffee table. Other than that…” She shrugged.

  “Maybe she was one of those minimalists. You know, the kind who don’t believe in owning a lot of things.”

  Cammie didn’t respond. She turned and walked down the corridor that led to the bedrooms. Coming up to the first bedroom, she opened the door and immediately stopped short. Rick came up behind her and peeked inside.

  “Yowza,” Rick whispered under his breath.

  Opposite the queen size bed stood a dark paneled dresser. What caught their attention was what was spread atop the dresser.

  Every inch was taken up with picture frames, each containing a photograph of Hannah. In the center stood a large 11 x 14 ornately framed photo of the smiling teenager. On either side of the frame was a vase filled with by now dead flowers. Laid in some sort of order in front of the photo was a hair brush, hair ties, a child’s necklace and an infant sweater that both officers guessed must have belonged to the deceased girl. There was a large rectangular mirror on the wall behind the dresser. Shoved into its edges were colorful drawings made by a young toddler. One of the drawings looked like a stick figure mother holding onto the hand of a stick figure child with the words clumsily scrawled ‘I love you, Mommie’. The sadness in Cammie’s heart that had begun in the backyard now grew deeper.

  “I cannot imagine losing a child,” she murmured as she took out her cell and began to photograph the scene.

  “I can’t imagine having to look at this every night,” Rick said. “She’s made a shrine to her dead kid. It would break my heart to be reminded night after night of what I lost.”

  Opening up the closet, Cammie was surprised to find only half the rack filled with clothes. For a woman who’d once been wealthy, she’d somehow expected to see more. Had Poppie’s indifference to life extended to her clothes as well?

  Whether it was the air in the room, or what the room represented, Cammie felt as though she were suffocating. Once she was done taking pictures, she gratefully left, closing the door behind her. Continuing down the corridor, they stopped in front of the next closed door. Cammie reached for the door knob, then hesitated. She knew in her heart what was behind the door. For a moment, she didn’t know if she had the strength to go inside. It was Rick who gently moved her hand away and opened the door himself.

  Just as Cammie dreaded, it was a bedroom for a little girl. There were pink frilly covers on the full size bed. Atop the pillows was a sizeable collection of stuffed animals carefully laid out. On the walls were more photographs of Hannah. None of them showed her beyond her teenage years. The inscription on the back of the photograph Cammie had found in Poppie’s wallet indicated Hannah died at the age of nineteen.

  She quickly took pictures of the room and, like Poppie’s bedroom, gratefully closed the door behind her when she was done.

  “She isolated herself with her memories,” Cammie said as they stepped back into the ice cold living room. “With the exception of her bird watching, it’s as if she hasn’t moved forward since 2014. She locked herself away in this house, living a quiet death since the day Hannah died.”

  Anxious not to arouse her suspicion, Rick kept a surreptitious eye on her. Aware that the sadness was threatening to swamp her, he said, “Let’s check out the basement and the garage.”

  They weren’t surprised to find only a washer and dryer in the basement. Since Poppie’s car was now with Forensics, the garage was empty. It was the first time Cammie had ever seen such a clean and empty garage. There wasn’t even so much as an oil can, tools or a dirty rag anywhere in sight. She inwardly shivered at the sterility of the entire property. The only room that had any personality was Poppie’s bedroom. And that personality was wrapped around her self-appointed role of caretaker of her daughter’s memory.

  “There’s nothing to indicate that Poppie knew she wasn’t coming back,” Cammie remarked after they were done.

  “How can you tell?” Rick exclaimed. “This whole place is like a frickin’ museum. You look at my house, you know someone lives there. But here? There’s not even one speck of dust. Or anything out of place. It’s creepy and scary.”

  “Scary?” Cammie asked in a bemused voice.

  “If I’m reading it right, Poppie Beresford didn’t live a life. She just existed, you know what I mean? She drew air into her lungs and mourned her daughter and looked at birds and that’s about it.” He shivered. “Promise me that if I ever end up existing like this, just put me out of my misery.”

  Cammie clapped him on the shoulder. “Rick, not even in your worst nightmares would you ever live a life like this.”

  They were both immensely relieved when they finally closed the door to the ranch. It wasn’t its size that made it so claustrophobic. It was the image of a woman simply breathing to get through her days, holding onto a dead daughter as if that was her only reason to exist. To keep the memory of Hannah alive. As long as Poppie lived, Hannah lived. She was the keeper of her daughter’s flame.

  As Cammie drove away, a thought occurred to her. What was going to happen now that Poppie was gone? Who was going to keep the flame going? Or had the flame already disappeared, its ashes the true memory of what Poppie had attempted to keep alive?

  Although they didn’t have a search warrant, they decided to drive to Meredith’s house anyway. It lay ten miles away from Poppie’s and unlike her friend, there were neighbors across the street and on either side of her two story clapboard farmhouse.

  They parked in her driveway and climbed out of the Explorer.

  “Let’s just take a look around,” Cammie suggested.

  In the back of the house was a squared off flower garden and a tiny patch that held tomato trellises and the remains of bell pepper plants. There was a small porch off the back door. Peeking in through the window, they saw a tidy kitchen with dated appliances and cabinets that needed serious updating.

  Coming around to the front, they climbed up onto the wraparound porch and looked in through the windows. Everything looked neat and picked up. The furniture
itself looked a little worn, but, like Poppie, it showed that a woman who liked everything in its place lived there. On the coffee table Cammie could just make out a pile of books and magazines. Next to the armchair was a basket with yarn and a half completed sweater on a pair of knitting needles.

  “Unlike Poppie, it looks as though Meredith at least has some hobbies to keep herself busy,” Cammie replied.

  “Thank God there are no shrines to dead relatives. At least on the first floor,” Rick answered. They walked off the porch and headed towards the Explorer. “Looks like this trip was a bit of a bust,” he continued as they got into the vehicle. “It really didn’t tell us anything that we didn’t already know.”

  Cammie remained silent. She backed up out of the driveway and was about to take off, when she paused. “Actually, this trip may not be such a loss after all,” she said.

  “What do you mean?”

  She put the Explorer in park and crooked her finger at Rick. “Follow me and find out.”

  Puzzled, he did as she asked and found himself standing in front of her mailbox.

  “You know we can’t touch her mail. It’s a federal offense,” he said as he gave her a dubious look.

  “It’s not her mail I’m interested in. It’s what’s next to the mailbox.”

  Standing nearby were two large green garbage bins.

  “Meredith lives alone, right?” she asked.

  “As far as we know, yeah.”

  “Then why would a single woman who lives alone have so much garbage to throw out?”

  “Maybe she forgot to put it out last week. I do that all the time.”

  “Could be. Or there might be another reason.” Cammie dug into her pocket and withdrew two pairs of latex gloves. “Let’s see whose theory is true – yours or mine. You take that bin, while I take this one.”

  Dragging the bins up away from the road, they began to rummage through them. Cammie pulled out three small garbage bags from her bin and worked to undo the knots. Rick almost gagged as he came across the remains of meals, fruit peels and used food containers. “This is disgusting, you do know that,” he grumbled as he almost choked at the sight of a rotted tomato.