Short-Circuited in Charlotte

By Amy Patricia Meade

Every year the Creators’ Cavalcade draws the most innovative and cutting-edge minds in science and technology, and when Nick Buckley is invited to showcase the U.S. Forest Service’s new environmental initiatives, he’s happy to invite his wife Stella along. The event promises to give both of them a break from the many complications of new homeownership, and the luxurious nineteenth-century estate where it’s held is sure to provide a beautiful and tranquil setting for their getaway. But when the Cavalcade’s founder and director is found dead and one of the participants is murdered not long after, Nick and Stella know that playtime is over and they’ll have to get busy trying to corner a fiendishly clever culprit.

Confronted with an eclectic mix of creators—and suspects—including a steampunk designer, a robotics engineer, a recycled materials percussionist and others, Nick and Stella know that everyone at the Cavalcade possessed the brains and technological know-how to pull off the murders. But they’ve got a few innovative ideas of their own for nabbing the guilty party, and the only question is whether they can put their plan into action before the killer pulls the plug on them for good . . .

Praise for the Books of Amy Patricia Meade:

“The first in a new series for Meade features yet another set of bright young detectives . . .” —Kirkus Reviews

“Quaint characters and settings abound in this outing by New Yorker-turned-Vermonter Amy Patricia Meade.” —Mystery Scene

“Meade’s debut will strike a chord with fanciers of Dorothy Sayers’s Peter Wimsey and Harriet Vane.” —Publishers Weekly

“If only Katharine Hepburn, Cary Grant, and Jimmy Stewart were still alive. They would be fabulous in the movie version of Meade’s debut Marjorie McClelland mystery . . . Meade’s kickoff mystery is a winner.” —Booklist

“Meade successfully segues from her historicals (Black Moonlight) to this snappy yet traditional contemporary. She brings us pitch-perfect dialogue, original characters, and enormous potential for a fun series.” —Library Journal

“A fairly straightforward plot with a neat twist at the end, good characters, and a well-drawn location make for a good read.” —The Bookbag

About the Author:

Author of the critically acclaimed Marjorie McClelland Mysteries, Amy Patricia Meade is a native of Long Island, New York, where she cut her teeth on classic films and books featuring Nancy Drew and Encyclopedia Brown. After stints as an Operations Manager for a document imaging company and a freelance technical writer, Amy left the bright lights of New York City and headed north to pursue her creative writing career amid the idyllic beauty of Vermont’s Green Mountains. Now residing in New Hampshire, Amy spends her time writing mysteries with a humorous or historical bent. When not writing—which is rare these days—Amy enjoys traveling, testing out new recipes, and classic films.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Beyond the Page Publishing
• Release date: Nov 2, 2021
• ISBN: 9781954717589

Amy Patricia Meade

Amy Patricia Meade is a native of Long Island, NY. Now residing in Upstate New York, Amy spends her time writing mysteries with a humorous or historical bent, and is a member of Sisters in Crime and The Crime Writers Association.

Book preview

Short-Circuited in Charlotte

Every year the Creators’ Cavalcade draws the most innovative and cutting-edge minds in science and technology, and when Nick Buckley is invited to showcase the U.S. Forest Service’s new environmental initiatives, he’s happy to invite his wife Stella along. The event promises to give both of them a break from the many complications of new homeownership, and the luxurious nineteenth-century estate where it’s held is sure to provide a beautiful and tranquil setting for their getaway. But when the Cavalcade’s founder and director is found dead and one of the participants is murdered not long after, Nick and Stella know that playtime is over and they’ll have to get busy trying to corner a fiendishly clever culprit.

Confronted with an eclectic mix of creators—and suspects—including a steampunk designer, a robotics engineer, a recycled materials percussionist and others, Nick and Stella know that everyone at the Cavalcade possessed the brains and technological know-how to pull off the murders. But they’ve got a few innovative ideas of their own for nabbing the guilty party, and the only question is whether they can put their plan into action before the killer pulls the plug on them for good . . .

Title Page

Copyright

Short-Circuited in Charlotte

Amy Patricia Meade

This is a fully revised and updated edition of a book originally published by Midnight Ink in 2017, copyright © 2017 by Amy Patricia Meade.

Cover design and illustration by Dar Albert, Wicked Smart Designs

Published by Beyond the Page at Smashwords

Beyond the Page Books

are published by

Beyond the Page Publishing

www.beyondthepagepub.com

ISBN: 978-1-954717-58-9

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this book. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented without the express written permission of both the copyright holder and the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Books by Amy Patricia Meade

About the Author

Chapter One

Stella Thornton Buckley clutched her red travel coffee mug firmly in one hand while wheeling a sizeable black suitcase down the gravel-lined driveway with the other.

Is there anything left in your closet? quipped her husband, Nick, as he loaded the piece of luggage into the back of his white Dodge Ram pickup.

Very funny. We’re heading to northern Vermont at the end of October. I’ve done my research: during the course of this weekend, we could experience rain, frost, summer’s heat, and even an overnight snow flurry. I want to be prepared.

And a smaller, carry-on-sized bag wouldn’t have accomplished that?

"I was raised on Long Island, Nick. This is my overnight bag. Besides, we’re going away for the whole weekend. That’s way longer than overnight." With that, she turned on one heel and headed back to the farmhouse she and Nick had purchased just three weeks earlier.

Where are you going? We need to hit the road soon if we’re going to have enough time to check in and set up.

I’ll just be a minute, she shouted before dashing down the drive and through the kitchen door. She emerged a few seconds later carrying a large red leather tote as well as her usual oversized handbag. Sorry about that. I just wanted to make sure I didn’t leave the toaster plugged in or the stove on. Oh, and I wanted to make sure the motion sensor light by the barn was switched on.

Okay, but we could have asked Alma or Mills to check on the place while we’re away. Ummm . . . what are those? Nick’s dark brow furrowed as he motioned toward the bags.

Stella flicked her shoulder-length dark blonde hair casually over her shoulder. These? One is my purse. The other is a shoe bag.

"Your shoe bag?" he replied incredulously.

Yes, my shoe bag. And, trust me, not an inch of it is wasted. It’s just large enough to hold what I need for the weekend.

What’s wrong with the shoes you’re wearing?

Stella raised her leg high enough to arch a leopard-print, loafer-clad foot. Well, these are fine for warm, dry days like today. But if it gets colder, I’ll need my fur-lined lace-up booties. If it rains, I have my fun red-dotted Wellingtons. If it’s damp and cold, I have my knee-high riding boots. Oh, and I also have a pair of sneakers in case I want to fit in a long walk, and a nice pair of dress shoes in case we go out to dinner.

I think our host has dinner covered, but . . . whatever. We’ll talk more on the way. Hop in, he urged.

After tossing the red shoe tote over the tailgate, Stella hoisted herself into the passenger seat, closed the door behind her, and, after placing her Coach handbag onto the floor, promptly fastened the belt. So, who is our host, anyway?

Nick eased the Ram, issued to him by the U.S. Forest Service, down the long gravel driveway. Some heavy hitter from Boston. I don’t remember his name, but the paperwork is all right there. He moved his right hand from the gearshift and pointed down toward the center console storage unit.

Stella lifted the lid of the console and extracted a stack of white printer paper, which had been neatly folded in half. Philip Morehouse, she read aloud as she unfolded the papers and scanned the first page. ‘Businessman, philanthropist, and founder of the Wanda Rousseau-Morehouse Foundation, a nonprofit organization dedicated to creating a State of Vermont where science, art, technology, and the environment can coexist and thrive.’

Having reached the end of the driveway, Nick made a left past the house belonging to their colorful neighbor, Crazy Maggie Lawson, and onto the main road. Yeah, that’s what this festival is all about: using art and technology to enhance creativity and improve people’s lives, while being conscious of the environment in the process.

‘Since 2015,’ Stella continued reading, ‘the Wanda Rousseau-Morehouse Foundation has sponsored Creators’ Cavalcade, an art and technology festival that takes place each fall on the grounds of Vue Colline, Philip Morehouse’s thirty-two-acre estate set against the backdrop of Vermont’s Green Mountains in the picturesque town of Charlotte.’

Stella had pronounced Charlotte as one might pronounce the girl’s name, but Nick was quick to correct her. It’s Char-LOT. He placed the emphasis on the second syllable.

Are you serious?

Yep. That’s how the guys at the ranger station pronounced it. Vue Colline in Char-LOT. Oh, by the way, that’s also where we’ll be staying: Vue Colline.

Oh, the guest house, probably. Right?

I don’t think so, Nick argued. Somewhere in there—page two or three maybe—it says that we’re to check in at the main house and drop off our luggage before setting up for the festival. We’re supposed to meet Morehouse’s secretary or something.

Um, yeah, his assistant, Stella corroborated as she skimmed through page two. Meagan McArdle. There’s also a list here of the people participating in the fair: robotics experts, a fiber artist, a glassblower, some guy who makes music from junk, several teams of hybrid engine developers . . . there’s no way all these people are staying under one roof.

They’re not. Most everyone participating lives nearby—there’s just a handful of us who are coming from other parts of the state or country.

Or world, Stella added. The fiber artist is Italian and the Master of Molecular Gastronomy is French. It’s an interesting cast of characters. Makes me wonder who will join us for dinner tonight and how your work fits in.

I’ll be discussing the Forest Service’s new conservation efforts, especially regarding our new wind power initiative and forest management and water conservation along the Appalachian Trail—which starts in Maine and travels through Vermont. Of course, I’ll also be trying to raise the environmental awareness of the next generation, so I’ll be promoting the junior ranger program too.

Well, I think it’s quite kind of your boss to let both of us attend this function. Between the move and the Allen Weston case, I feel as though we’ve been living in the eye of a hurricane. It will be nice to get away, even if it’s for a few short days.

Nick frowned. The discovery of a body in the well of their newly purchased farmhouse had made the relocation to Vermont more stressful than one could imagine, but now that the murderer had been caught and the case closed, he was looking forward to his and Stella’s life getting back to normal. Yeah, I’m not so sure that my boss was being altruistic when he asked me to go—he’s a quiet guy and a native Vermonter, so spending a weekend talking to strangers really isn’t his thing—but no doubt, the change of scenery will do us both some good.

And we get to spend the weekend together. That doesn’t happen very often; usually you’re working.

I’ll still be working, Stella. Remember?

I know, but it’s not like you’ll be off patroling the woods. You’ll be here in civilization where I can help you set up and, if you debrief me on what to say, I can fill in for you when you need a break. Oh, and we can even have lunch together.

Yes, we can. And I love the fact that you’re nearby. Nick reached over and grabbed his wife’s hand. But, truth be told, I don’t think we’re going to be that busy—at least not my table. I think the robots and hybrid engines will probably get more traffic. I just don’t want you to get bored, Stella. If you need to go, then please feel free to do whatever you want.

Me? Bored? I enjoy people watching. Besides, I brought some things with me: a book, some magazines I subscribed to and have yet to read, and some stitching projects. Since Alma hung up that cross-stitch sampler of mine in the Sweet Shop, I’ve gotten three more orders.

Prior to moving to Vermont, she and Nick lived in New York City, where Stella had worked as a textile curator at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. The move to a rural area meant a change from a desk job with the Forest Service to a much-coveted field position for Nick. For Stella, however, it meant unemployment—a situation that she hoped would soon change, but until it did, she filled her time by decorating her new home and creating sassy, oftentimes surly, cross-stitch pieces, one of which was displayed upon the wall of Alma Deville’s coffee shop.

Three? Wow, you’re getting quite the business going. Nick’s hazel eyes grew large. What are they this time?

One is for a copy of Alma’s ‘Bitch in Kitchen.’ The other two are custom orders: ‘Shut Your Pie Hole,’ which I’ll probably accent with an image of—

A slice of pie? Nick guessed.

Uh-huh. The other custom order is ‘Adios, Bitchados.’ Apparently one of Alma’s friends is quitting her job. Why she would want to spend good money on an ornery parting gift for her former employer is beyond me, but I wasn’t about to talk the woman out of a sale. However, I still have no idea what the design is going to look like. A guy in a sombrero maybe?

If she’s leaving on bad terms, a middle finger might be more appropriate.

Um, she’s a church secretary, Stella explained.

Sombrero it is, Nick declared.

Uh, yeah. Anyway, my point is that I won’t be bored. I have my stitching stuff and graph paper with me; I have thirty-two acres of walking space and a mansion—hello, a mansion!—at my disposal, and if I get tired of the country life, I can go into Charlotte and check out the shops.

You’re on a huge estate in the country, hon. How are you getting to town?

The truck, of course. Once you’re set up at the fair, you won’t need it again until we leave. Unless, of course, we decide to go off on our own one night.

This is a government-issued vehicle, Stella.

Meaning it’s to be used by government employees only, she surmised.

That and I don’t want to have to tell my boss that the clutch is shot after just two weeks of driving it.

You’re afraid I’ll burn out the clutch? Seriously? Her gray-blue eyes flashed. I’ll have you know that I’ve driven a car with standard transmission before.

Really? When? The nineties?

Funny. You know I wasn’t old enough to drive then. No, it was actually back in my driver’s ed class; our regular car was in for service and the only available replacement had a clutch. I did very well, actually. I was one of only three people in my class who was able to keep the car from rolling backward when stopped on top of a hill.

You realize that was almost twenty years ago, don’t you? Nick challenged.

Yeah, so? Some things you don’t forget. It’s like riding a bike. I might be a little rusty at first, but I’m sure it would all come back to me.

Uh-huh. Well, until you’ve worked out whatever rust might be rattling around in your memory, I’d prefer you practice on a different bicycle than this one.

Stella clicked her tongue. You’d think you’d have more faith in your wife’s skills.

I do, Nick replied with a smirk, just not when she’s driving federal property.

• • •

Several hours and a brief lunch stop later, Nick brought the Dodge Ram to a halt before a pair of imposingly majestic black wrought iron gates which, amid their intricate scrollwork, bore an enormous letter R. For the sake of convenience, the right side of the gate had been propped open.

A paunchy uniformed security guard with sandy-colored hair that was slightly graying at the temples emerged from the nearby white-shingled gatehouse.

Nick immediately rolled down the driver’s-side window. Hi.

Afternoon.

I’m here for Creators’ Cavalcade. I’m with the U.S. Forest Service.

The guard nodded and looked at his clipboard. Name?

Last name’s Buckley. Nick Buckley.

The guard frowned. No Nick here. Only Buckley I have is Graham.

Yep, that’s me, Nick explained as he sat up and extracted his wallet from his back jeans pocket. Upon discovering, on numerous occasions, that Graham was not a safe name to be sporting on a Hackensack, New Jersey, playground, he had, at age twelve, decided to go by his middle name instead. Nicholas, or Nick, was a moniker far better suited to a young man who played football, aspired to a career in forestry, and was well on his way to reaching his current height of six feet two inches.

The guard took Nick’s license and, after a quick perusal, nodded and handed it back. Go through the gates, up the hill, and stay to your right. There will be lots of chances to turn left, but just keep to your right and in three miles you’ll be right there by the front door of the main house. I’ll radio Ms. McArdle and let her know to expect you.

Nick thanked the guard and returned the license to his wallet with a shake of his head. Damn Walter.

Stella recognized Walter as the name of Nick’s boss; she also recognized Nick’s frustration. Graham is the name on your ID, hon. Walter didn’t have much choice.

Yeah, yeah. Nick sighed under his breath. Following the guard’s directions, he drove the truck through the gate and up a privet-lined driveway. About a half mile along the route, the privets disappeared, replaced with a view of rolling hills, a great brownish gold meadow, and acre upon acre of barren farmland that, only a few months earlier, must have been incredibly lush and verdant.

The couple rode in silence as the landscape around them unfolded: the stark gray of empty branches studded by the occasional resilient patch of orange, red, or brown foliage, a pasture of grazing sheep, a rock-lined brook, a brightly painted barn, and then, at three miles, Vue Colline itself.

An exquisite example of Tudor-style architecture, the turn-of-the-twentieth-century mansion featured exquisite details: steeply pitched roofs, herringbone brickwork, tall mullioned windows, and incredibly tall chimneys.

Honey, we’re home, Nick sang.

Um, remember when I said I’d never move from our new house? I may have been a little hasty, Stella quipped.

Down, girl. Those thirty-two acres sound like a hell of a mowing headache.

Sheep, baby, sheep. And, given the size of that mansion, a fleet of servants, a few maids, and . . . a huge mortgage.

Yeah, I’ll get right on that. Is there anything else you’d like while I’m at it? A platinum mine or a replica of the Great Pyramid maybe?

Stella reached across the truck’s center console and placed a loving hand on Nick’s shoulder. Of course not, sweetie. You should know by now that all I want is you.

Same here, honey. Nick removed his right hand from the gearshift and patted his wife’s knee. Well, and maybe a plasma TV to hang above the den fireplace.

Spoken like a true romantic, she said drily.

Nick brought the truck to a halt before Vue Colline’s arched front doorway, where a slender thirty-something woman sporting a headset and a blue fleece jacket embroidered with the Creators’ Cavalcade logo awaited their arrival.

Hi, you must be the Buckleys, she greeted the pair as Stella and Nick alighted from the cab of the truck.

Yes. I’m Nick. He stepped forward and extended his right hand.

Meagan McArdle, the brunette introduced herself as she grasped Nick’s hand in hers and gave a polite shake. I’m Mr. Morehouse’s personal assistant.

Nice to meet you, Meagan, he acknowledged with a nod of the head and a slight bow. He relinquished the woman’s hand and gestured to his left. This is my wife, Stella.

Stella offered her hand and the two women exchanged pleasantries.

I’m a bit confused, Mr. Buckley. On our registration forms, your name was given as Graham, but you introduced yourself to our gate attendant, and now to me, as Nick. Did we get our wires crossed somehow?

No, my first name is actually Graham. I just prefer to use my middle name.

Oh. Meagan frowned. All your credentials for the fair are under your first name. I’ll see if we have some extra blank badges. It won’t look as nice but you can write your name in permanent marker.

Thanks, Nick said appreciatively. But you really don’t need to go to extra trouble.

It’s no trouble at all. In the meantime, here are the credentials we have for you. She handed Nick a large manila envelope. You’ll find a badge for you and one for your wife so that she can have access to the exhibitors’ concessions and restrooms. I also included a map of the property, so you can find your way around, as well as a list of your fellow exhibitors by name, so that you can mingle a bit easier. I highlighted the names of those staying in the house with you this weekend in yellow—I thought it might help ease conversation at dinner this evening. Now, if you’ll just come inside, I’ll show you to your room.

Let me get our bags, Nick suggested.

No need. I already radioed our caretaker. He’ll be here any minute.

Stella studied their hostess. With her long russet hair and soft chocolate eyes, Meagan McArdle was, without doubt, physically attractive, but perhaps more appealing was her air of quiet confidence and efficiency. There was little wonder why a man like Philip Morehouse would trust her with the day-to-day operations of managing his empire.

They followed her through Vue Colline’s arched wooden doors and into a stunning foyer replete with custom woodwork rendered in quarter-sawn oak: paneling, floors, and a massive double stairway. The top parts of the walls were papered in rich burgundy damask, while an arch positioned adjacent to the staircase led to a dining room which, at the moment, was only partly visible through a set of pocket doors. To the left and right of the main entryway, at either end of the foyer, wood-trimmed arches opened to a drawing room and a billiard room, respectively.

Meagan gestured to her left. This is the drawing room. At seven o’clock, we’ll be meeting here for drinks. At seven thirty, we’ll move into the dining room for dinner, but do feel free to use any of the rooms down here whenever you find yourself with some spare time. There’s also a Keurig coffee machine and some board games in the billiard room—in addition to the billiard table, of course—should you wish to take a break and relax. Oh, and I believe somewhere in those emails I sent to Walt I mentioned this afternoon’s preview.

You mean about the fair being open between three and five today? Nick guessed.

Yes, I hope it’s not too much of an inconvenience for you to be set up by then.

Nick shook his head. Shouldn’t be. I just need to hang some signs and banners and unpack the printed material I brought along.

Good, because, in addition to allowing weekend ticket holders to get a sneak peek at the exhibits, we’ve opened the event to after-school groups, scout troops, and other community youth organizations. We thought it would give children who would not otherwise attend the fair an opportunity to experience the science and technology firsthand. Of course, if those children go home tonight and ask their parents to bring them here this weekend, we’ll be happy to sell them tickets, but our goal is to put science in the hands of every child—including those who can’t afford to attend.

That’s quite admirable, Stella commented.

Well, one of the core beliefs of our foundation is that knowledge provides power to control one’s destiny, Meagan replied as she led the Buckleys to the staircase to the right of the dining room arch. Now, if you’ll follow me, we’ll get you settled in your room.

They followed her up a flight of stairs to the second floor and then turned left down a long wood-paneled corridor.

Big place, Nick remarked.

There are seven guest rooms in the north wing of the second floor; the south wing contains Mr. Morehouse’s quarters: his office, library, bedroom, dressing room and bath. There are three more bedrooms, as well as the original servants’ quarters, on the third floor. We won’t be using them this weekend but you’re welcome to take a look at them if you’d like. We broke down some of the walls to make the rooms more accommodating for modern guests. It’s hard to believe that they once housed two servants each.

When was the house built? Stella asked.

The main house was built in 1880. The outbuildings such as the barns and cottages were built between 1880 and 1910. Mr. Morehouse and the late Mrs. Morehouse were sticklers for details; when they restored the property in 1990, they updated the electric and heating systems so that they were up to code, but kept everything else authentic to the period in which the house was built. She stopped at the second-to-last door on the left and, with an old-fashioned-looking key, opened it. Here we are: the Green Room.

Living up to its name, the Green Room evoked the feel of an outdoor conservatory. Topped with floral, garden-inspired draperies, a bank of mullioned windows illuminated the room with an abundance of natural sunlight, while the delicately carved whitewashed furnishings prevented the room from appearing too crowded. Gently tumbled river rocks surrounded the fireplace, and the bed canopy and walls were covered in a pale green fabric that bore just a hint of pattern.

The wallpaper is watered silk, Meagan explained. It is a reproduction of the original wall treatment. The canopy bed and the vanity table belonged to Mrs. Morehouse’s grandmother.

It’s lovely, Stella murmured as she made her way to the windows and watched as the front driveway gave way to a vista of meadows and mountains

Reviews for Short-Circuited in Charlotte

[jetangen4571 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

witty, verbal-humor, Vermont, murder, murder-investigation, law-enforcement, cozy-mystery, rural, amateur-sleuth*****The publisher's blurb did a very good job of getting me interested and it didn't hurt that I loved the first one in series. I do think that this one stands alone quite nicely but the first is more hilarious. Good mystery plot with believable characters, lots of laughs, plot twists, and red herrings (or baby octopi). Loved it!I requested and received a free ebook copy from Beyond the Page Publishing via NetGalley. Thank you!