Berry Little Murder: A Meadowood Mystery

By Nancy M. Wade

Meadowood has a new mystery and it's just in time for the holidays!

Strings of miniature sparkling lights adorn tree branches and hang across the entrance to the holiday pavilion. Christmas carolers try to enhance the holiday mood, but it was murder in the air, not friendship and goodwill.

• Language: English
• Publisher: GARNAN Enterprises, LLC
• Release date: Jun 30, 2023
• ISBN: 9798988552239

Book preview

Chapter One

Holiday Festival

Miniature white lights twinkled in Saturday’s early dusk. Strings of sparkling lights adorned tree branches and hung across the entrance to the holiday pavilion in a glowing welcome. Piped in Christmas carols enhanced the holiday mood of charity and fellowship. The calendar might say November but the festive air and decorations gracing every booth or display declared Christmas would soon be here.

The entire townsfolk of Meadowood seemed to fill the grounds at the elementary school. People mingled, greeted friends and neighbors, as the air vibrated with laughter and feelings of good will among all the citizens, all but a few. Who would have guessed that the festive air also contained danger?

The children’s activities and booths with games of chance had drawn throngs of people who generously spent their hard-earned coin for the worthy cause. The pavilion smelled of fresh balsam and evergreen holiday wreaths mixed with cinnamon and gingerbread scents. Crowds streamed in and out of the large tent all afternoon purchasing various crafts and eating the delicious treats on sale and now the fund-raising event for the county’s homeless and hungry was winding down.

My feet had begun to hurt from standing so many hours on duty at our cub scout table in the large pavilion. Dragging my fingers through my short blond locks, I tucked a curly strand behind my ears. I tugged on the ends of my scout uniform scarf, adjusted the knot, and huddled deeper within my warm coat as the evening air turned cooler. Ted Williams, my assistant den leader, elbowed his way through the throng, a folded camp stool under his arm as he approached our booth.

Ted’s a great guy and well-liked around town; he manages his own real estate office as both an agent and a developer. He sold us our colonial house eleven years ago and since then he and his wife Barbara have become close friends. Their son, Joey, is a member of my cub scout den and is an inseparable buddy of my oldest son, Johnny. Last year, Ted was falsely accused of murder during one of our scout camping trips. Luckily, he was absolved with his reputation restored, but it was touch and go for a while.

Maybe this will help, Merry, he offered as he erected the stool behind the display of our scout’s wooden crafts.

Thank you! My feet are killing me, I said gratefully as I sunk onto the stool. Wish I’d had this earlier.

Looks like we only have three bookends left, Ted remarked. The kids did really well, didn’t they?

They certainly did. I think the boys enjoyed the woodworking too. It gave them some experience handling tools and seeing their construction efforts turn into something tangible. Even the younger guys participated. You and Chuck Thompson both did a great job guiding them, I complimented Ted.

I’m proud of all of them. They really out-did themselves.

If we don’t sell the last of these, I’ll buy two to take home. I laughed as I examined the remaining bookends. The paint showed streaks and one edge was slightly crooked. Maybe my mother-in-law will get a set for Christmas.

I’m sure she’d appreciate a handmade gift from her grandsons, Ted remarked.

Humph, you don’t know my mother-in-law; these won’t match her expensive décor. I should gift her a pair out of spite, I snorted.

Anna, Chuck’s wife, joined us; her hands juggled a paper plate loaded with cookies and a cup of hot cider. She set her goodies down on the table and breathed a sigh of relief.

Those look good, think I’ll grab some cookies, Ted said as he left our table and prepared to elbow his way through the crowd.

I thought for sure I’d spill one or the other before I made it back to this table. Martha still has warm mulled cider if you want a cup. It’ll take the chill off, Anna said.

Smells delicious, but I don’t think Martha is speaking to me yet. Maybe you better get one for me, I said.

Really? Is she still mad? Hmm, just look at that. Isn’t that Nina from the tea shop? She’s heading over to the bakery booth, Anna pointed as she tried to get a second glimpse of Nina among the people milling about.

Think I’ll go get you a cup of that cider and maybe eavesdrop on what’s happening, Anna said. I’ve just got to satisfy my curiosity. She hurried toward the far side of the tent.

I watched my friend maneuver through the crowd. My husband’s boss, Sheriff Edgar Simmons and Deputy Tony Dalton also moved through the mass of people. I noticed the sheriff stopped at each vendor table. I heard him ask if all was well and if their cash was locked up or had been transferred to the school safe inside. Colleen Callahan, the school principal, had earlier suggested that festival funds would be safer locked in the small vault in her office. Throughout the day, vendors had made deposits into the locked safe and left with receipts in hand.

Anna and the rotund sheriff seemed to converge on Martha’s bakery booth at the same time.

Cider please, they both said.

Coming right up, Sheriff, Martha answered. She set two cups of the warm cider on a serving tray then paused and turned at the sound of her name being called. She looked to her left and came face to face with Nina Mason.

May we talk, please? asked Nina.

Why? Martha asked. She wiped her hands on a towel and tried to avoid Nina.

I’d like to work out a business arrangement with you. I think we can help each other, Nina started to explain but Martha angrily turned her back and Nina found herself wedged between the sheriff and another woman.

Try this spicy cider, a voice suggested.

Anna stepped forward to pick up a cup of cider for Merry, but another pair of hands beat her to it and the sheriff claimed the second cup. She glanced over her shoulder; Nina was gone, and the sheriff had strolled off in the opposite direction, sipping his cider.

May I have a cup of the mulled cider, Martha? I lost the cup you poured for me.

Oh, sorry Anna. Here you go, Martha said as she handed a fresh cup directly to her.

Thanks Martha. Anna laid two dollars on the table. This is for Edgar’s and mine.

Anna cautiously made her way back to the scout booth and held out the Styrofoam cup to me.

Mmm, this is good. You better drink yours before it gets cold, I said as I sipped the drink. I’d love to get Martha’s recipe for this. By the way, did you get a chance to listen to Nina and Martha’s conversation?

Just a bit, it was difficult getting close to her table; someone always seemed to cut in front of me. From what little I did hear, Nina seemed friendly enough, not so much Martha. Hey, I saw our boys over by the corn hole game. They sure get a kick out of tossing those beanbags, Anna informed me as she reached for a cookie and sipped her cider.

Suddenly a piercing scream rent the air above the voices in conversation and the children’s laughs and squeals. For a split second the crowd hushed then pandemonium broke loose. Anna and I exchanged questioning looks, then we both ran for the tent exit, leaving our booth empty. The scream seemed to come from east of the pavilion. I could see people running in a panic in that direction. We started sprinting toward that location when another cry for help rang out in the opposite direction.

It was Tony Dalton’s voice. Help, somebody help! The sheriff needs help.

What? The sheriff… what’s happening? I asked as I turned toward the sound of Tony’s cry. You go that way, follow the crowd. I’ll find Tony and Edgar, I commanded Anna as we split up and I grabbed for my cell phone to call 9-1-1 emergency.

I located a shocked Tony Dalton hovering over Edgar Simmons who lay curled in a fetal position on the ground. His hand still clutched a Styrofoam cup. I crouched down next to him and pressed my fingers to his neck to check his pulse. Weak, but beating. His lips appeared white, and his skin flushed red; there was vomit on the ground. I couldn’t help staring in disbelief.

I called 9-1-1. Help is on the way, I told Tony as he squatted next to the sheriff.

A group of onlookers gathered closer. I stood and faced the people. C’mon everyone, move back and give the sheriff some air. Back up, here comes the ambulance, I shouted as I saw the flashing lights and heard the siren approaching.

Tony finally found his focus and allowed his law enforcement training to take over. Back up folks. Did anybody see anything or anyone near the sheriff? he asked the onlookers but only received negative murmurs or shakes of the head.

We stepped back as the emergency squad arrived and attendants hurried to Edgar’s side.

Where’s the other person? questioned one of the paramedics. We had two calls; the dispatcher said there were two victims.

Other person? I started to ask then realized the scream that we first heard must mean another victim. Oh my gosh, that’s right, there was a scream. I think it came from someone beyond the pavilion toward the parking lot.

I scanned the crowd until I spotted Anna Thompson. Anna pushed her way through the group of people watching the paramedics administer to the sheriff. She rushed over to Tony and me. She bent forward and clasped her knees, pausing to catch her breath before she could speak.

Anna gulped for air. It’s… Nina Mason…dead, she said, struggling to get the words out.

I stared into the forlorn night, flashing back to all the events of the past week when I had first met my new friend, Nina, as my mind groped for a reason, some logical explanation for her sudden death.

Chapter Two

One Week Earlier

Frances Andrews entered Teresa Maxwell’s Cut & Curl then stopped dead in her tracks. Normally the hair salon bustled with customers receiving stylist hairdos and the latest gossip, but not today. Fran stood inside the door; her blue-gray eyes darted around the empty shop. The black and white checkerboard tiled floor shone spotless, no wisps of cut hair lying under a beautician’s chair. The retro hot pink accessories and window curtains in the salon created the look of a fun, mid-century soda shop. Today it was eerily quiet.

Hello! Teresa? Anybody here? Fran hesitated to venture further into the vacant shop. She glanced over her shoulder through the large front window and noticed her niece, Meredith Gardner, coming down the sidewalk. Fran yanked the door open and quickly waved to Merry.

Hi Aunt Fran. What’s up? I asked as I approached her, until I saw the worried expression on her face. What’s wrong?

Step inside Teresa’s. I can’t find her, and I’m getting bad vibes.

Maybe she just stepped out for a minute. Strange that the shop is empty, though. Guess Mondays are slow days for hairdressers, I commented as I entered the silent space.

See what I mean? Feels strange, said Aunt Fran nervously.

Hey Teresa! It’s Merry and Fran, I shouted as I slowly walked toward the back of the shop and inched open the bathroom door and looked inside. Empty. I moved to the supply room and eased the door open then stopped.

Teresa lay on her side; I pushed my way into the room and rushed to her. Her breathing sounded shallow as I squatted next to her and stared at a growing lump on the side of her head with blood matting her burgundy hennaed hair — the color this week.

Aunt Fran, call 9-1-1. Hurry! Teresa’s knocked out on the floor, I explained.

Teresa Maxwell owns the beauty shop Cut & Curl. I love Teresa for her good-natured manner even though her appearance can be disarming when you first meet her. Teresa believes in experimenting with every new hair color or style on herself before offering it to a customer. Some days her hair is flaming red or orange and other days you may find her with streaks of purple among her light brown strands. She dresses younger than her forty-five years but somehow that works for her. Her shop is also gossip central in town.

Oh, my goodness. I knew something was wrong. Is she alive? Aunt Fran asked, her voice shaking.

Barely. Where is that rescue squad? I worried as I pressed my fingertips on the pulse of her neck and prayed help would arrive soon.

Sirens wailed and lights flashed as the rescue squad and a Meadowood sheriff cruiser both screeched to a halt on Park Avenue in front of the hair salon. My husband Doug and young deputy Tony Dalton jumped out of the cruiser to rush past me as I pointed toward the back room where Teresa lay, moaning softly. A pair of paramedics joined them to efficiently tend to her head wound and check her vitals. The fact that she was gaining consciousness seemed to be a positive sign.

You two need to leave so you don’t contaminate my crime scene, Doug stated while motioning to Fran and me.

Uh-uh, we’re not leaving. We’ll stand over here, out of the way, but I’m not going until I know Teresa’s okay, I replied stubbornly.

Doug groaned in exasperation. Just stay out of my way. I hope you didn’t touch anything.

Shaking my head in the negative, Fran and I stood at the side of the room to observe the investigation.

I’ve been called pig-headed in the past; some might say stubbornly so, but it’s only because I care so much. I’ll be the first to admit that I’m nosy and, yes, my curiosity has gotten me into trouble more than once when I’ve poked my nose into matters that were best left to law enforcement. I just can’t help it. When my friends need help or something just doesn’t seem right, I feel it’s my duty to step in, get involved, but that can sometimes put me at odds with my own husband who does not appreciate my investigative skills.

Where are all her customers? Anybody else here when you arrived? asked Doug.

No. Place was empty. Maybe Teresa had locked the shop this morning to run errands and just got back. All I know is that I had an appointment with her for twelve, explained Fran.

Doug and Tony examined the rear door and windows for any evidence of a break-in then moved to Teresa’s cash drawer