Mystery at Windswept Farm: A Rosalie Hart Mystery

By Wendy Sand Eckel

In Wendy Sand Eckel's much-anticipated third book in the Rosalie Hart Mystery Series, Rosalie's hard-earned organic farm certification is threatened by a toxic neighbor who is about to crop dust his winter wheat. When their impulsive farm hand decides to confront him, she finds his lifeless body inside

• Language: English
• Publisher: Level Best Books
• Release date: Aug 9, 2022
• ISBN: 9781685121617

Wendy Sand Eckel

Wendy Sand Eckel is the award-winning author of the Rosalie Hart Mystery Series. Holiday-themed Killer in a Winter Wonderland, is the fourth in the series. Her mystery series has been awarded 'Best Cozy' by Suspense magazine and Mystery at Windswept Farm, the third book in the series, made the humorous novel bestseller list on Amazon. A trained life coach, Wendy writes the advice column for the Maryland Writers' Association newsletter and enjoys mentoring aspiring authors. She lives in a small town on the Eastern Shore of Maryland, a unique and quirky part of the country, which is also the setting for her series. In addition to her husband, she lives with two male orange tabbies, Frodo and Sam, who her daughter rescued from a soybean field. She loves to cook and is happiest when her kitchen is filled with friends and family and the table is brimming with savory food and wine.

Book preview

Chapter One

The kitchen glowed in the early morning light as I fired up my favorite coffee maker and watched as he hissed out a cup of Columbian roast. Although he was showing his age, Mr. Miele had been my first and only improvement when I moved into this drafty, old farm house. I liked to think those initial espressos helped restore my will to carry on, and, not long after, bring Barclay Meadow back to life.

I sat at the table and gazed out the window. A pale gray mist hovered over the Cardigan River as a flock of Canada Geese fluttered onto the water. Sweeney Todd, my adopted Maine Coon cat, hopped onto the table, his massive tail switching back and forth. I eyed him and gripped my mug with both hands. His arrival was anticipated. And sure enough, just as I was about to take my first sip, he chin-bumped my coffee cup. But I was on to him, thus the mug grip. I didn’t spill a drop.

It was unusual for me to have idle time in the morning. But the Day Lily Café, my restaurant in the small Eastern Shore town of Cardigan, Maryland that offered authentic farm-to-table cuisine, was getting an upgrade .

Sweeney hopped off the table, his back legs scattering yesterday’s mail. I noticed an envelope from the Maryland State Department of Agriculture. My farm’s annual organic certification was due soon. Passing was as important to my restaurant, as it was to Tyler Wells, the man who leased my farmlands, and the man I had recently shared several kisses with. Quite lovely kisses I should add. Down right knee-weakening.

The front door creaked open and I looked up to see Tyler and his aging chocolate Labrador, Charles Dickens, come into the kitchen. The scent of the outdoors and a hint of sandalwood soap breezed in with him. I stood and smiled. Ready for coffee?

Always. He kissed my forehead and reached for one of the mugs hooked under the cabinets, a faded Orioles cap stuffed into his back pocket. After spooning several scoops of sugar into his cup, he leaned against the counter and took a long sip. How it didn’t scald his tongue, I would never know.

I stood next to him, mirroring his posture. My heart did a little flip at his proximity. I handed him the envelope. Care to do the honors?

He stared down at it, a stitch forming between his eyebrows.

Is this about the re-certification? I asked.

This is probably the dates for the inspection. He set his coffee down and slid his finger under the seal. His vivid green eyes darted back and forth as he read. Damn it. He started to crumple the letter.

Tyler. I put my hand on his arm. What are you doing?

The dates are too far out. Dickens exhaled a small groan and walked over to Tyler, harrumphing onto his boots. You know our neighbor? Windswept Farm?

Ronnie Kline, right? I’ve never even met the man.

Tyler shook his head. You don’t want to. He’s as mean as a badger.

Yes, that’s what I’ve heard. But what does he have to do with our renewal?

His winter wheat is in. He’s getting ready to crop dust his fields. Tyler lifted his chin. And there’s a chance the pesticides could blow over here and compromise our test.

The front door slammed. Bini Katz’s boots were hard on the pine floor as she walked into the kitchen. Bini was the farm’s only employee and a long time family friend of Tyler’s. She had a no-nonsense manner and no clue that Tyler and I were a thing, which is exactly how he wanted it.

She looked at the letter in Tyler’s hands. When?

Four weeks.

I knew it. She crossed her arms tight against her chest. In her mid-thirties, and despite her small stature, Bini’s powerful presence could change the barometric pressure in a room in a nanosecond. Can we move it up?

Then what? They will want to know why.

We have to stop him, Ty.

I’ve been talking to some of the guys in the co-op. We’re going to draft a letter.

A letter? Her face contorted. He could be hiring that plane today for all we know.

Why hasn’t this been a problem in that past? I said. He’s owned that farm for as long as I can remember.

His nephew took over the farming last year. Kline is so busy drinking Maker’s Mark all day he doesn’t give a flip what Barty does to the crops.

I’m going over there, Bini announced. Her fair skin had flushed a deep crimson.

No, you’re not. Tyler’s eyes narrowed. Let’s think about this. The wind comes from the northwest. Right, Bin? Maybe we are worrying for no reason.

You willing to take that chance? Bini pushed her short-cropped brown hair back from her forehead.

What about the sheriff? I said. Isn’t it illegal to spray the chemicals Kline uses?

Not yet, Bini said. But it should be. Chlorpyrifos is about as toxic as you can get. It’s been linked to all kinds of diseases. And don’t get me started about what it’s doing to the Chesapeake Bay.

You just made my case, Tyler said No one, including you, is going to tell a Devon County farmer how to grow his crops.

Bini looked down at her tightly-laced boots. We have to do something.

I agree. But let me ruminate on this for a bit. I think the letter will help. Everyone knows how toxic this pesticide is. He isn’t going to want to alienate the county’s entire farm community.

After a brief silence, Bini spun around and stomped outside.

Once the door closed, I said, She’s going over there.

He gazed at the space she had just occupied. I know.

My shoulders fell. Is this Kline guy really that bad?

Oh, yeah. Tyler faced me. And he loves to piss people off. Bini going over there will only make things worse. He shook his head. If the organic board got even a trace of that stuff in our test, we’d have to start all over again.

This is awful, I said, exasperated.

Tyler took me in. Come here. He reached out and pulled me into his arms.

I rested my cheek on his chest.

How’s the café coming along?

I got the all-clear last night. I’m headed over there after I shower.

That’s really great, Rosalie. He kissed the top of my head and stepped back. Once Bini settles down, we need to get the goat barn finished. We’ve got five kids arriving early next week.

Five? That’s wonderful. I looked up at him, those green eyes, the tanned skin, sandy blond tousled hair. We could lose everything, Tyler.

Yeah. He pulled his cap onto his head. I’ve got to figure out a way to stop that plane.

Chapter Two

After a long, scalding shower, I pulled a lightweight black sweater over my head, and slipped into my favorite jeans, a hand-me-up from my Annie who was in her third year at Duke. I fluffed my hair and glossed my lips. And, as I did every morning, clasped my mother’s pearls around my neck and said, Miss you, Mom.

Worry for the farm clouded my thoughts as I trotted down the narrow stairway of my two-hundred-year old home. This house and vast farm were bequeathed to me by my dear Aunt Charlotte and, for a few years before I moved here, I pretended it wasn’t mine. But when I learned, quite by accident, that my husband of twenty years was in love with a much younger woman, I decided it was time to leave my shattered life in the DC suburbs, and make the Eastern Shore of Maryland my home.

Hitching my purse on my shoulder, I stepped out into the crisp innocent October day. Built in the early 1800’s, my house had floor-to-ceiling windows, a fresh white coat of paint, and forest green shutters. I rounded the corner and tossed some breakfast scraps to our free range chickens. A hammer pounded in the distance as I made my way to my car.

I was relieved to see Bini’s F150 in the drive. Tyler must have persuaded her not to go to Ronnie Kline’s. I climbed into my undersized red Mercedes convertible and dropped my purse on the passenger seat. I had never felt comfortable in this car. My ex-husband gave it to me for my fortieth birthday five years ago. My previous car was a beige Prius. When Ed wrapped my fingers around the keys, he said, To keep you young. I should have realized then he was in the market for a newer model.

The scent of sawdust met my nose as I stepped into the Day Lily Café. A clear plastic tarp separated the original café from what was once The Little Lamb, a children’s clothing store that had gone out of business.

My breath caught in my throat when I stepped into the addition. The new walls had been painted the same warm shade of ochre as the rest of the café, just like a Tuscan villa at sunset. New windows sported stickers in the bottom left panes. The area that was to be the bar extension was finished and the marble top installed.

As I walked back into the original space, I noticed yellow caution tape tied outside the front door. The concrete that was once my front steps had been jackhammered into chunks and now lay in a puddle. A flimsy sign read: The Next Big Thing. Cardigan was finally getting fiber optic cable, but there wasn’t a worker in sight.

I looked up to see Alessa, a good friend and local winery owner, standing outside the door. Born in Italy, she held a bottle of wine in one hand, and lifted the other as if to say, what’s going on?

I motioned her around to the back door that opened into the kitchen.

We shared a quick hug. Her thick dark hair was back from her face, her lips a bright red. Dressed in spiky pumps and a flowery skirt, she handed me the wine and said, "This is our latest vino rosso. Sixty per cent of the grapes are from Sonoma County. My cousin is flying over from Florence next week to see if he wants to serve it in his restaurants."

It sounds amazing. And if I like it?

Put it on your wine list. She set it on the counter and looked around the room. Darling, this place looks fantastic. Look at that range. It’s beautiful. I want to move into this room.

I’m beyond excited. Come and see the rest.

After a quick walk through, she turned to face me. Rosalie, do you mind my asking how you could possibly afford all this? You’ve been closed for two months.

Of course I don’t mind. I smiled. Have a seat. I’ll make us an espresso.

She sat on one of the tall chairs at the bar and crossed her legs. I watched as she picked up the well-handled brochure I had left on the counter. Tuscan Culinary Adventures. A cooking school? In Italy?

Located in the hills of Tuscany.

First the addition and now cooking school? Have you been going to Vegas?

Hah, I said as I set the small cup in front of her, a lemon zest on the saucer. "It’s just a dream. Reading that brochure calms me down. Growing up I had a best friend, Carly, who lived on a farm about a mile down the road. I used to ride my bike over to her house every chance I got. Her Italian ‘nonna’ lived with them and the house always smelled of oregano, red sauce, and freshly baked bread. Sometimes I would linger hoping they would invite me to dinner, but my mother was on to me. She would call at 4:00 every day and tell them to send me home. I closed the brochure. So no cooking school. And the café expansion is all due to my brother, Oliver."

I’ve never heard you mention a brother. She stirred the zest into her espresso.

I adore my brother, but I haven’t seen him since our mother’s funeral. We try and talk at least once a month, but that’s about it.

Why didn’t your brother get Barclay Meadow?

It’s a thing in my family. I rolled my eyes. Don’t burden Oliver, he’s going places.

And you weren’t?

That was always my question, too. But we were raised in a very traditional family on a very traditional farm. So the someone who was expected to not move too far away from the parents, and maybe pop out a grandchild or two, was me.

And did he? Go places?

I nodded and took a small sip. He makes a lot of money and he makes other people a lot of money. Don’t get me wrong, he works very hard. But I learned long ago to not get in his way or add to his busy life. That’s the rule in the Finnegan clan.

Because he’s going places.

Exactly.

It all sounds very Italian. She flashed me a wry smile. And so he gave you the money to expand?

Technically he’s co-owner of the café. But, yes, this is all because of Oliver. The good news is he’s finally coming to visit to see his investment. I gazed down at the brochure. Check out that view. I looked up. Didn’t you grow up in Tuscany?

Mm, yes I did. And it is as beautiful as the photograph. She put her chin in her hand and drummed her fingers along her cheek. This has always been your dream?

I’m still in awe of what Carly’s grandmother could do with a tomato.

Stomping boots sounded from the kitchen. A voice called out my name. Well, my last name. Sheriff Joe Wilgus only referred to me as ‘Hart.’

He walked into the room in full uniform, hat low on his forehead. He shifted his holster and said, You open?

Hello to you, too. I brushed my hands on my apron.

He looked around, taking in the changes in the café. When he noticed Alessa, he took off his hat, exposing his thick dark hair. Miss Alessa. It’s a pleasure to see you.

She flashed a playful smile. Good morning, Sheriff. Are you well?

I am now. He looked over at me. So, Hart?

Yes? I put my hands on my hips.

You open or not?

No. My steps have been demolished. Why are you so interested?

He nodded toward the row of coffee makers.

I should have known. I walked over to the machines and started up his favorite roast.

I’ve got to go. Alessa stood. This was fun, Rosalie. Do I get to meet your brother?

Can we tour the winery?

"Sí, my dear. Oh, be sure to let the wine breathe for at least ten minutes." She blew me a kiss and winked at the sheriff. The scent of an expensive perfume trailed behind her.

Sheriff Wilgus stared after her. How did such an exotic woman end up in Cardigan?

She loves her American husband. I set a mug of coffee and a small pitcher of cream in front of him

He sat down, setting his hat on the bar. Place looks the same, just bigger.

I’ll take that as a compliment. I set a spoon on a napkin next to his coffee. Anything new in town?

You don’t happen to know who’s driving around in that red Porsche. The sheriff looped his finger through the handle and pulled the mug closer. Fancy friend of yours?

Not everyone driving a red sports car knows one another. And I don’t particularly like mine. So, not a clue.

A scratchy voice emanated from the radio attached to his belt. "Sheriff—"

He stood and grabbed his hat.

I reached for a to-go cup. What’s happened?

That’s for me to find out and you not to know.

I popped the lid on his cup and he headed back through the kitchen.

You’re welcome, I called after him, noting he hadn’t paid. The door connecting the café to the kitchen swung back and forth until it fluttered to a stop. I tucked my unruly dark hair behind an ear and set the sheriff’s mug in a dish bin. I wondered what classified as an incident in Cardigan. A dinged car door at the Acme? A tractor stalling traffic?

A faint noise sounded in the distance. As the siren grew louder, a police cruiser careened down Main Street, a dizzying array of blue and red lights flashing on the walls of the café. An ambulance followed close behind. They were headed out of town on my road. The road to Barclay Meadow. My stomach tightened. And the road to Windswept Farm.

I swallowed back an uncomfortable feeling. Did Bini? No, her truck was in the drive. But what if? It was a mother’s worry. That faint idea that very quickly ballooned into the worst case scenario. I grabbed my phone and texted Tyler. Did Bini go to Kline’s?

I set my phone on the bar, willing a speedy reply. I crossed my arms and bit my bottom lip. Tyler always answered my texts. He kept his phone on vibrate in his back pocket. He would have been notified by now. I gazed down at the black screen. Nothing. We should have pushed harder for her to not go. The worry had reached full throttle. I shut down the café and ran to my car.

The tires skidded on the gravel as I rounded the circle in front of Barclay Meadow. I checked the drive. No pickups. I rushed up the steps and through the door.

I found Dickens under the table on his dog bed. His ears twitched but he remained asleep. Tyler’s faithful dog never left his side. He was a fixture on his front seat. The few times I rode in Tyler’s truck, Dickens sat between us, his hot breath fogging the windshield. I froze when I saw Tyler’s phone next to the coffee pot. He must have been in a hurry.

At last my phone chimed. It was a text from Bini. She never texted me. My fingers trembled as I opened the message. Ronnie Kline’s dead.

Chapter Three

Ipaced and fretted for over an hour imagining the worst. Had Tyler gone after Bini? Did he get in a struggle with Kline?

I considered going over there but thought better of it. Sheriff Wilgus was on the scene and he already found my curiosity to be beyond annoying, and at one point, worthy of throwing me in a jail cell.

When I at last heard a truck engine, I ran to the front door, stumbling over Dickens as we competed for first place to intercept Tyler.

I left in a hurry. Tyler’s face was lined with tension. I forgot my phone. He bent down and gave his dog a quick scratch.

The sheriff got a call while he was in the café. Then I got a text from Bini. I searched his face. How did Kline die? Please tell me you didn’t have anything to do with it.

No, of course not. He rubbed his forehead roughly. Why would you say that?

Because you said Kline was mean as a badger, that’s why. When did Bini go over there? Did you follow her? Did Kline and Bini get into some kind of struggle?

Tyler let out an exasperated laugh and shook his head. So many questions. He continued into the kitchen and checked his phone. After stuffing it in his back pocket he turned to me. Would you like to know what happened?

Does a chicken have feathers? I crossed my arms. Yes, please.

Kline was already dead when Bini got there. He was just inside the door. She called me because she was afraid.

Oh, my goodness. Poor Bini. What a horrible thing to discover.

When the coroner got there he said it looked suspicious. Tyler frowned. I’ll spare you the details.

"You mean he may have been murdered? In Cardigan? That’s terrifying."

Yeah. I agree. He cocked his head. This isn’t your problem, you know. He gave me a small smile. Okay, Nancy Drew?

Of course. I tried to sound incensed but the man had a point. Sounds like the sheriff is actually going to look into this one.

He already is. Asked Bini and me lots of questions. Like why did Bini call me before the cops.

She should get a lawyer.

I’m sorry? Tyler fired up an espresso. Kline was dead when she got there.

Nobody knows that for certain but Bini.

What are you saying? He looked over his shoulder at me. Are you suggesting she killed him?

No, Tyler, of course not. I would never, ever think that. But Joe Wilgus might. And he likes to wrap things up quickly. I combed my hand through my hair. Poor, Bini. This is so awful. I walked over to Tyler while he stirred some sugar into his cup. How is she?

Pretty shook up. He downed the entire espresso. Up until today, Bini has lived in a bubble. Nothing even close to this has ever happened to her before.

I tucked my arm through his. Doesn’t she still live with her parents?

She’s there now. I told her to take a few days off. He patted my arm. We’ll see if she does.

Should I go over there?

No need. She’s with her folks, and they will all deal with this in the Katz manner.

The Katz manner? I peered up at him.

Say a few prayers for Ronnie Kline and reassure Bini this was God’s will. Tyler paused. And then her mother will say, ‘It’s a blessing Bini found him before the critters did.’

Chapter Four

The next morning, Bini arrived for work and went about her business as if nothing had happened. She kept her back to me when she came into the kitchen for coffee.

How are you, Bini?

Fine, she said into her mug. Why wouldn’t I be?

I studied her, wondering if I was witnessing the ‘Katz manner’ in action. That’s great news about the goats. Five sounds perfect. Will they all be . . .

She spun around. Clutching her mug she said, I need to get to work. Just before she got to the door she said, You’re feeding the chickens too much bread.

I shook my head and realized I needed to give Bini some space. She must be feeling all kinds of mixed emotions, the worst being Tyler and I both warned her not to go to Ronnie Kline’s.

Although I was dressed and ready for my trip into town, I had an idea. I was happy to let Bini handle this the Katz way. And I would handle it my way. I felt badly for her even though that’s the last thing she wanted. So after making a decadent batch of chocolate chip cookies, I arranged them on a platter and placed them in the center of the kitchen table where she couldn’t miss them.

I checked the time. Glenn Breckinridge, my best friend and head waiter, had agreed to meet me at the café. Although we had been sharing an occasional coffee during the construction, I missed seeing him every day. We weren’t scheduled to meet for another hour so I dropped my phone into my bag and decided to pay a call on Sheriff Joe Wilgus.

The County Sheriff’s Department was housed in