Murder on the Widow's Walk

By Christine Knapp

Keep Calm and Call the Midwife...

Maeve O'Reilly Kensington is still shaking off last year's shocking events in the quiet New England coastal town of Langford, where she is a modern-day nurse midwife. Her husband Will's catering company, A Thyme for All Seasons, is back on an even keel, and they are now actively pursuing fertility treatment and adoption in the hopes of becoming parents.

Meg, Maeve's older sister and Langford's premier real estate agent, introduces her to Montgomery Livingstone, a Manhattan business tycoon commonly known as the Takeover King. Livingstone is anxious to move his base of operations and his home to Langford, but some community members have grave misgivings about whether his presence will be a boon for the town.

Misgivings that come to fruition when Monty is pushed off a Widow's Walk and falls to his death! Suddenly Maeve and Meg are again thrust into a murder investigation as they attempt to help a seemingly innocent young woman accused of the crime. But it turns out there are many secrets to be uncovered, and once again, Maeve, Meg, and their savvy Boston Irish mother must band together to solve the murder. Maeve races against the clock to bring the killer to justice while caring for her patients and pursuing her goal of motherhood.

"Christine’s writing style is very entertaining with sensory laden description of the various environment, characters, and even the state of Maeve’s cookies and knitting. Clever & Entertaining Gem!"
~ Kings River Life Magazine

"Readers will fall in love with this series immediately!! I highly encourage and suggest you grab your copy."
~ Cozy Mystery Book Reviews

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gemma Halliday Publishing
• Release date: Dec 6, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005737924

Christine Knapp

Christine Knapp practiced as a nurse-midwife for many years. A writer of texts and journal articles, she is now thrilled to combine her love of midwifery and mysteries as a fiction author. Christine currently narrates books for the visually impaired. A dog lover, she lives near Boston. To learn more about Christine Knapp, visit her online at thoughtfulmidwife.com

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Ovulation is the monthly release of a mature egg from an ovary during the menstrual cycle.

It's a boy!

I gently placed the full-term, red-faced, screaming baby on Leah's abdomen. Leah, a thirty-eight-year-old first-time mother and rabbi of Langford's Congregation Beth Israel, and Jed, her nurse-practitioner husband, were simultaneously crying and smiling.

Hello, Jacob Michael, Jed cooed.

That's a beautiful name, I said.

Thanks, Maeve. He's named after his late grandfather, Yaakov, Leah said.

And easy to say, I thought with approval. I loved my given name, but I also got tired of endlessly explaining that Maeve was pronounced like wave with an M.

You were both amazing, I told them. A true team. Leah and Jed had remained intensely focused through a prolonged second stage of pushing to bring Jacob into the world.

You were the leader of our team. Your continuous encouragement and guidance in trying different pushing positions helped us so much, Jed replied.

I checked the placenta, sutured a minor laceration, and helped Robin, the veteran labor and delivery RN, get Leah settled. I was at the sink washing my hands when Jed looked up from Jacob and asked, How many children do you have, Maeve?

I felt my throat close and my cheeks flush. Luckily, I was facing the wall. None yet, I croaked in a whisper.

Let's see if we can get Jacob to nurse, Robin said. Then she added, Maeve, you're needed in Room 14.

I quickly said goodbye and stepped into the hall, where I took a deep breath to try to recenter myself.

There was no Room 14. Robin had sensed my unease with Jed's question, even though I had never shared my struggles with her.

A midwife with fertility issues? Not a great selling point for the profession.

I walked to the end of the corridor and reflected on the scene outside of the full-length windows. Early May in New England could be harsh. Although tiny pink buds were visible on a row of cherry trees in the side courtyard, the sky was overcast, and the glass on the window was cold to the touch. Gray-blue waves hammered the harbor in the distance. But as uninviting as it appeared just now, this view never got old. No matter the season, this was my home.

My cell phone vibrated in my scrubs pants pocket. I pulled it out and read the text, Stop saving the world and get gussied up for tonight.

I chuckled and shook my head. Meg, my older sister, undoubtedly already had her hair, nails, and makeup done for tonight's cocktail party at my in-laws and was just itching to be on her way.

Lydia and William Kensington, bastions of Langford society, were hosting a welcome party for Montgomery Livingstone. Montgomery, a financial baron, also known as the Takeover King, was expanding his base of operations to New England. He had settled on Langford when Lydia and William told him that he could easily find a manse to his liking for a mere eight million and change.

Just what Langford needed, another wealthy captain of industry.

Meg, Langford's top-selling real estate agent, had found him a massive, nineteenth-century sea captain's home complete with a widow's walk, which he and his wife were remodeling.

Leaving now. See you there, I texted back to Meg.

Driving home, I mentally took stock of my cocktail party attire. Black silk sheath? Try not to be so dull, Maeve. Black crepe wrap dress? Ugh, worn it too many times! Slacks? I will take stock after a quick shower.

I opened the front door of our red brick carriage house, formally known as Primrose Cottage. Fenway, our beloved dachshund, sat right in front of me, crying tears of joy. Of course, she always sobbed with delight upon our return even if we were only gone for ten minutes. Dachshunds love their pack.

Hi, Fens. I stopped to pick her up. She began licking my neck with unrestrained enthusiasm.

Walking into the kitchen, I saw a note propped up on the table. Underneath a sketch of a couple on a tandem bike with a dachshund in the bike basket were the words, Light repast in the fridge. See you tonight.

I found a hummus and tabbouleh wrap in the refrigerator with a small container of homemade lobster bisque. They were two of my favorites from Will's lunch menu at the café.

Will had a successful catering company, A Thyme for All Seasons, and had recently opened a breakfast and lunch café in Langford Harbor. From a young age, he had loved to spend time in the kitchen watching—and, later, cooking with—the various chefs his parents employed. Although his parents did not fully embrace his career choice, they knew his cuisine and attention to detail were second to none, and they had hired his company for the party.

After showering and removing the hot rollers from my long hair, I surveyed my chosen outfit in the mirror. I paired my tea-length, black mesh skirt with a fitted black cashmere cocktail sweater studded with tiny white seed pearls and then added pearl drop earrings for accent.

Nondescript but acceptable, I decided. Then I took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

Every event at my in-laws' was studded with potential land mines. I was not the daughter-in-law of the Kensingtons' dreams. I was not Episcopalian, nor was I from their social group, and they seemed to believe that midwives were more associated with historical Salem than with modern medicine. I usually got through these encounters with Will's help and a hefty bourbon. Tonight, though, Will would be busy, and I wasn't drinking because I hoped the latest intrauterine insemination had worked. After being diagnosed with endometriosis last year, Will and I went through six months of negative pregnancy tests. We had recently decided to try three rounds of IUI, which involved my taking Clomid and then having Will's sperm placed directly inside my uterus via catheter to increase my chances of conception. We had decided to do the IUIs back-to-back for three months. Time was ticking. I was getting older, and I liked the feeling of being proactive.

On top of that, Will and I had decided to pursue adoption at the same time. Wherever the road took us, we were ready for a family. We had spent months putting together an adoption book for prospective birth mothers and fathers to review. Photos and descriptions of our family, friends, town, careers, and Fenway filled the pages. Our adoption counselor thought it was well done but cautioned us that the road was long and uncertain. Every day I obsessively checked my cell to ensure I hadn't missed a call from the agency.

We were currently awaiting the outcome of this IUI, and Dr. Beth Chisholm, our fertility MD, had told us that if all three IUIs were unsuccessful, we would need to consider IVF treatment. That was a huge step, and waiting was so difficult. While my career was my life's passion, being a midwife was somewhat of a struggle while undergoing fertility treatment. I had been so devastated that the first IUI had not been successful. During this cycle, I was trying to take things day by day, but sometimes the Clomid-induced mood swings had me at the edge of despair.

Arriving at Fairview, I saw rows of white luminaries flanking the massive drive leading to the Kensington estate.

Good evening, Mrs. Kensington. So wonderful to see you, Roberts, the Kensington's long-time butler, greeted me at the front entrance.

Good evening, so nice to see you.

The party is in the great room and solarium on the ground level, Roberts said. It was essential to note the event's floor because there was a great room and solarium on each of the three levels.

Although I had been to Fairview many times, the manor never ceased to be jaw-dropping. Walking through the black and white marble foyer, I entered the great room and saw that Lydia's party planner had earned her money. Its classic décor of leather sofas and Oriental rugs had been whisked away, and the space had been transformed into a chic party lounge. Small white linen couches and chairs had been brought in and were grouped in clusters for eight to ten people. Black lacquer tables of varying heights were placed in strategic spots. Orchids of all colors and sizes adorned tables and various shelves on floor-to-ceiling bookcases. The low lighting was complemented by garlands of white lights wrapped around the cathedral ceiling beams, creating a warm ambiance. A jazz quartet was playing in one corner. Wait staff from Will's crew bustled about carrying hors d'oeuvres on silver trays.

I was so preoccupied with looking at the surroundings that I did not see Lydia and William standing to my left, waiting to greet me.

Oh, hello, I stammered. I could feel a warm blush creeping up my neck and cheeks—curse my Irish complexion.

Good evening, Maeve, said William, shaking my hand. We had never progressed beyond the handshake.

Clad in a well-fitted navy suit, crisp white shirt, and blush pink silk bow tie, William looked every bit the financial baron. Lydia smiled and nodded while looking me over from head to toe. She was in a sleeveless, A-line sheath of navy silk shantung embroidered with blush-pink flowers accented by deep rose Christian Louboutin heels. Of course, the dynamic duo was color coordinated.

Your home looks beautiful. What a transformation.

Lydia's smile almost tightened into a sneer, and her David Yurman triple-drop diamond earrings seemed to flash a warning at me.

I mean, I love your usual décor, but this is a perfect cocktail party atmosphere.

Lydia turned to greet a new guest, and William gave me a parting nod.

How to win friends and influence people, Maeve.

I headed to the kitchen to find Will but felt someone grab my arm as I turned.

Fleeing the scene of the crime?

Hi, Meg. You look smashing. She was dressed in a black, cap-sleeved, Oscar de la Renta knee-length cocktail dress with raffia floral accents.

Thanks. I love your sweater. It looks great with that skirt.

I gave her a slight smile.

What's up? Morticia and Gomez got you down?

You know the difference between in-laws and outlaws, I said.

Outlaws are wanted, Meg chuckled.

I never say the right thing, I sighed.

Please don't be so hard on yourself. Do you think their undies match?

Stop, I chuckled.

Come on and meet the guests of honor.

The Takeover King and his wife?

That's Monty and Pippa to you, Meg said with a smirk.

We approached a small group standing in a circle.

Well, if it isn't the realtor to the stars, said a tall, olive-skinned man with closely cropped dark hair. Monty had striking good looks and appeared to be a Peloton devotee.

Montgomery and Pippa Livingstone, I'd like you to meet my sister, Maeve O'Reilly Kensington.

Kensington? Are you related to Lydia and William? Monty inquired.

Nice to meet you, Maeve, Pippa said, extending her hand and giving Montgomery a raised eyebrow.

She was about five-foot-five, very slim with long platinum blonde hair, and dressed in a hot pink Lilly Pulitzer sheath with a choker of white pearls the size of marbles.

Maeve is married to Will Kensington, their eldest son, said Meg.

Monty's always trying to find the connection between people, Pippa responded.

It goes with the territory, I'm afraid, Monty said, shaking my hand. I'm delighted to meet you, Maeve.

Will's food is just incredible. I'll be using his company for all our events, Pippa said as she turned to speak to the couple beside her.

Despite his wife's abrupt withdrawal, Monty seemed interested in continuing the conversation. Meg negotiated a great deal on a fabulous home for my family, and she is also overseeing all the renovations.

Meg is a topnotch real estate agent, I agreed. She told me that you purchased Oakhurst. What a magnificent property. The view and the setting are second to none. Plus it has a boathouse I deeply covet.

You know the property? Monty inquired.

Everyone knows Oakhurst. I row by it a few times a week.

You row? Monty asked with sudden enthusiasm.

Maeve was a Division 1 rower in college and captained her team to a National Championship in her senior year, Meg put in.

I could feel another blush coming on. My pale skin always showcased my depth of social anxiety, and Meg loved to brag about all O'Reilly achievements.

Whom did you row for? asked Monty.

University of Massachusetts at Amherst, I replied.

Monty's lip started to turn up in a smirk, but he quickly caught himself. UMass Amherst is Division 1? he asked instead, raising his eyebrows just a fraction of an inch in disbelief.

I smiled and nodded. If Monty had rowed in college, I would bet it wasn't for a state school.

I captained Bridgemore, Monty said with evident pride as he moved his Richard Mille watch aside. A tiny maroon B was tattooed on the underside of his right wrist.

Ah, yes. Bridgemore was the prestigious private college on the outskirts of Boston that had captured many national rowing titles. Considered a small Ivy, it catered to the wealthy and also admitted occasional scholarship students who possessed exceptional academic resumes and often outstanding athletic ability.

Do you still row? I asked.

Well, I travel frequently, but I try to take my shell out when I can. I'm looking forward to making time to row on the bay.

The Regatta Club is a great place to connect with fellow rowers. I keep my shell at their boathouse. It's about a mile down the bay from Oakhurst. They field a team of older rowers at the Head of the Charles every year, I said.

My racing days are over, I'm afraid, but my son will row for an Ivy. And with that, Monty gave me a dismissive look and immediately turned to clap a heavyset Indian man on the back.

Meg steered me to the bar and ordered me a seltzer with lime and a gin and tonic for herself. Okay, so he's a pompous ass, but I've met worse, Meg said.

I could tell he really loved this state school gal.

Meh, Meg replied. Then she turned and looked out at the party, which was now in full swing. Great turnout, she said. Maeve, isn't it strange to think of Will growing up in this world? He is so down-to-earth, so humble, and hates to be the center of attention.

I just smiled and nodded. Will had grown up in the lap of luxury with a succession of nannies plus parents that believed children should not deviate even slightly from parental goals and values. It had taken great inner strength and much soul searching to carve out a different life plan.

He's a keeper, Meg added.

The jazz trio finished Take the A Train, and William Kensington stepped to the microphone. Good evening, all, and welcome. Lydia and I are happy to open our home and introduce Pippa and Montgomery Livingstone to the Langford community. We are so pleased that they have recognized the beauty and culture of this region. Pippa and Monty are major philanthropists to the arts, and, of course, the name Livingstone Concepts is known for excellence in all areas. Livingstone Concepts will greatly enhance the Northeast region. Monty has already partnered with a few local businesses to better their futures. Let's all raise our glasses and toast Pippa and Monty.

The crowd clinked glasses and gave a polite round of applause.

After the past year's events, though, my stomach clenched whenever a toast was made at an event catered by Will. I looked around. No dead bodies. Manage your PTSD, Maeve.

Will's newest staff member had briefly been a murder suspect last summer after Dr. Whitaker, the chief of obstetrics at Creighton Memorial, had died of an allergic reaction after taking a sip of champagne at his daughter's wedding reception. Will's catering business had recovered and, in fact, was flourishing, but he couldn't afford another hit to his reputation.

Monty walked over to William and, after a warm handshake, expertly took the microphone although his booming voice needed no amplification.

Thank you, William and Lydia, for this beautiful gathering. Pippa and I are delighted to become residents of Langford. Livingstone Concepts is well-known worldwide, but we want to develop stronger ties in this region, which means getting to know the people of each community. Langford will afford us unparalleled access to New England. We have already formed a partnership with the Langford Wooden Boat Company, which has a history of true craftsmanship, and we look forward to making many more special relationships.

At that moment, a brawny forty-something-year-old man standing slightly behind Meg, and I hissed, Weasel! and tossed his half-empty glass on a table before storming out. I recognized him as Tristan Mayweather of the Langford Wooden Boat Company.

Not part of the welcoming committee? I asked

Meg motioned me closer. Monty bought into his business, and Tristan is not happy with the partnership, she said as Monty continued.

Monty looked out at the crowd. I am also pleased to see my college buddy Frank Aviano here tonight. I'm sure that you good people have tasted Frank's delicious treats from Harbor Delights. His chocolate is made using an old family recipe and is second to none. Frank and I go way back. We were teammates at Bridgemore, and I can't wait to learn more about the art of chocolate making from him.

He smiled broadly at a trim, very tall man with curly, chestnut brown hair who stood at the bar with a petite woman in red. I noticed the man's expression did not change, and he did not acknowledge Monty with a nod. The woman reached out and gently squeezed his forearm.

Monte continued, Pippa and I are currently having Oakhurst renovated. She will remain in Manhattan along with Austin and Victoria, our two children, until Oakhurst is complete. Thank you for welcoming us to Langford. We hope to have many wonderful occasions to host all of you.

As Monty concluded, the jazz trio began playing again. Meg was waylaid by a couple wanting to talk real estate, so I decided to find Will and say hello. On the way, I ducked into the small powder room officially designated for use by the staff. It was hidden in the back hallway next to the stairs leading down to the catering kitchen. The guests were given the use of two other large powder rooms off the foyer. After I finished and had checked my appearance in the mirror, I began to open the door. I quickly stopped myself because I heard voices muttering in the hall.

He's such a phony. How does he live with himself? a deep male voice asked.

Let's go. You don't need to interact with him, a female voice responded.

I waited until there was silence before stepping into the hallway.

Who was that? Were they talking about Monty?

Entering the lower-level kitchen, I saw Will putting the finishing touches on dessert trays. An array of pastel macarons was set out beside an oblong platter of mini patisserie cakes. Tiny glass cups of raspberry and chocolate mousse flanked petite fruit tarts. Finally, an assortment of hand-dipped Harbor Delights chocolates graced silver servers.

Okay, team, said Will. Please set up the dessert buffet and remember that all offerings are nut-free as requested by the host.

As the servers filed out, Will turned and saw me. Hello, beautiful, he said.

I hugged his waist and gave him a quick kiss.

Hey, Maeve, said Ella. Ella was Will's second-in-command at A Thyme for All Seasons.

Hi, Ella—another outstanding catering event. You two rock.

Thanks. I'll put up some leftovers for you. I know you love a midnight snack, Ella said with a chuckle.

Thank you!

Will and I moved to sit down at the massive white Carrara marble island. This spacious kitchen was set up solely for caterers and house staff. It was at least 2,000 square feet and held many state-of-the-art features, including Miele appliances, massive sinks, warming tables, and a floor-to-ceiling whiteboard so timing and courses could be noted and followed precisely.

How are you doing? I asked.

Are you implying that cooking for my parents causes stress? He tried to look as if he didn't understand.

I rolled my eyes at him.

They insisted on no nuts and quizzed me about every ingredient numerous times, but hopefully, there will be no murders tonight.

I felt an involuntary shudder go through me. Everything is exquisite, I told him. And it's so nice of your parents to welcome the Livingstones to town.

My father is looking to do some deals with Livingstone Concepts. So I think this is friendship but also entertaining for business. He shrugged. Hey, they hired the wayward son to cater, so I have no complaints.

Oyster Cove Financial Services was William Kensington Jr.'s pride and joy. Will, however, had not joined the firm upon graduating college. Instead, he followed his dream of a culinary career, still a raw subject between father and oldest son.

At that moment, Meg walked into the kitchen. Fabulous menu as always, Will. The food was delectable. Plus, I handed out all your cards.

How did you get my cards?

Come on, I carry your cards everywhere. I take them from the café, she said with a laugh. I figure people need to sleep and eat, so you and I have them covered.

I kissed Will goodbye, and Meg and I returned to say goodnight and thank the Kensingtons. William was ensconced with his cronies and lifted a hand in a goodbye salute. Lydia was at a table with female friends, part of Langford's ladies-who-lunch crowd.

"Goodnight, Lydia.