Murder in the Village Proper: An It's Never Too Late Mystery

By DonnaRae Menard

Katelyn Took came home to settle her grandmother's estate, only to discover not only did Gram leave seventeen cats. But Ruth Beauregard, a childhood chum, had moved in. Ruth was confused, penniless, and abandoned by her in-laws because they believed she had murdered her husband five years before. Ruth

• Language: English
• Publisher: Level Best Books
• Release date: Jun 20, 2023
• ISBN: 9781685123734

DonnaRae Menard

DonnaRae Menard began writing in junior high school and has been scribbling since. She is the author of the An It's Never Too Late Mystery series. A 1970's suspense featuring Katelyn Took and 17 cats. The Woman Warrior's series, historical fiction from time periods she remembers, Detective Carmine Mansuer series, set in Boston, Mass. Dropped from the Sky, It takes Guts, Willa the Wisp, and several short stories. She splits her time between Vermont and New Hampshire, has an affinity for odd jobs, and rescued cats. She's also always willing to explain about her 450 pound lap pig.

Book preview

Chapter One

When the phone rang, Katie knew it was an animal pick-up call. Why else would anyone telephone at nine o’clock after a long working day and on a snowy evening?

Rick beat her to the phone. Handing it over, he said, I’ll go start the truck to warm it up.

Miss Took? You’re the animal control officer, right? This is Carl Terreault. I’m sorry to call so late, but we’ve got these three small puppies in our barn, and the mother has disappeared.

Your dog is lost in the snow, Mr. Terreault? Katie asked.

She’s not our dog. She showed up here around three weeks ago, already in labor. A small, wire-haired terrier mix. We found her in the barn when we went out for the milking. My wife and boy made her comfortable, and we asked around but haven’t found the owner. Has someone reported her missing?

I haven’t received a call on a missing dog, Katie said.

Well, she had several puppies, and lost all but three. She’s been taking real good care of these, said Mr. Terreault. I saw her this morning when I went out to milk, but she was gone at nine when my wife took her out a bowl of scraps. She ain’t been back all day. The puppies are cold and hungry. I just brought them in the house, but we can’t keep them.

I’m on my way, said Katie.

This was the first time since taking what had been Irma Roser Moore’s job that Katie had been called for abandoned puppies. Irma, Katie’s maternal grandmother and the person who had raised Katie since age three, had lived her entire life in Parentville, and after the death of her husband, Fred, supported herself by her wits.

As the per diem animal control officer for the town of Parentville, she usually got calls for feral cats, raccoons, skunks, and Walker, an ably named basset hound. She got out a cat carrier and tucked a piece of blanket and a hot water bottle inside. Ruth, the crazy old lady Gram had taken in, and who then had turned into a roommate and housekeeper, was standing by the door, her red coat leaving a gap where skinny kneecaps and shins showed between the coat’s hem and her boot tops.

You don’t want to go, Ruth, said Katie. It’s cold, and you’re not wearing pants. The snow is deeper than your boots.

I’ll stay in the truck, said Ruth, yanking her gloves on in a manner that left no space for arguing.

Rick was standing beside her, frowning. But if she was determined to go, then so be it. He tugged his winter hat with its long fur ear flaps down on her head. Since selling his mobile home and moving in as handyman and renter, he had taken on the role of, if not head of household, protector. Even though Ruth had long ago chosen another to wed, he still carried a sparking torch for the small woman.

Tie it under your chin. He told her. When Ruth finished, he wrapped one of the long scarves she knitted around her neck, securing it in the front.

I can’t breathe, she said with a giggle.

You’re fine, he replied. I’ll mix up some baby formula and set up a nursery box while you’re gone. Be careful.

The Terreault farm was on the other side of Parentville, near Monkton. Ruth knew all the roads, and Katie had only been back for a short time. The sixty-year-old directed them from one dirt road to another. If we go through the village proper, it will take longer.

In the hours since the snow had stopped falling, the plow trucks had done their business. The roadways were clear, with tall, peaked snowbanks on either side. The wind was gusting, sending light, swirling sprays of glitter across the road in front of their headlight beams. Just before they arrived at the Terreault’s, Ruth remarked how it looked like they were driving through a fairy wonderland.

Yes, Katie agreed. It is magical.

Mrs. Terreault met them at the door. Her two teenage boys stood behind her, each holding tight to an inquisitive hound.

I’m so sorry, she said. It’s just that with me working and the boys in school, we couldn’t have taken on the puppies.

When Katie first saw the two Plott hounds, she thought she might have found the daddy. Once inside, she realized one was a female and the other a neutered male.

We only knew the other female dog was in the barn because Ginny found her, said one of the boys. He was rubbing the female Plott. From the whipping of her tail, Katie could tell Ginny was thrilled at the attention.

Katie looked the puppies over while transferring them to the carrier. Two females, one male. Their bellies were nicely rounded, and they weren’t whimpering as if in need.

Are you sure the mother hasn’t been here? she asked, rubbing the belly of one puppy.

We’ve been watching, said Mr. Terreault. My wife warmed up some canned milk and Karo syrup, and we dribbled it into their mouths.

They were so thin, and just shivering into pieces, said Mrs. Terreault. She gave the babies one last soft and lingering look, as if this was one of her own she was sending away.

Katie thanked them for keeping an eye on the young dogs and slid the carrier across the bench seat next to Ruth, who wrapped a protective arm around the plastic crate. As they pulled out of the long drive, Katie looked skyward. There had been a thin crescent moon showing earlier. Now it was gone, hidden behind more clouds.

Well, she said. It doesn’t look so much like a Tinkerbell village now. I’m not liking the cloud cover. Let’s hope we get home before the snow starts to fall again.

The forecast isn’t for snow. Ruth pointed out. But the wind is picking up.

Her words were right on. Earlier, small gusts had sent wisps of snow in a whirling dance. Now heavy sheets of dense white blew across the road. Katie and Ruth felt the truck’s tires snag on drifts dumped across their way by the heavy blow.

For crying out loud, Katie thought, gritting her teeth. I can barely tell where the road ends and the snowbank starts.

As though laughing at her fear, the wind rose still more. Instead of a gust that hid everything and instantly disappeared, they were driving ahead into a blinding wall of snow. Katie slowed down. Their loss of forward momentum meant that upon hitting a solidly packed snow drift hidden by the gusts, there was enough play for the front wheels to veer. In a split moment, the truck was tumbling.

Ruth cried out in fear. Katie, who was clutching the steering wheel, came up hard against it as the truck stopped abruptly. The right front end was down in a ditch far enough so Katie could feel herself sliding down the bench seat toward Ruth. Twisting quickly, she moved her legs, bracing her feet against the hump where the transmission traveled forward under the cab. Her quick movement allowed her to hold herself from crushing the pet carrier into the old woman.

Are you okay, Ruth? Katie asked, sounding a little unsteady.

I’m alright. Ruth sounded small and even more shook up. Katie peered at her friend in the dashboard glow. I hit my head on the window, but this big hat of Rick’s softened the blow. She gave a nervous laugh.

Well, that’s good, said Katie. I’m going to get out and see what this looks like. Do you know where we are?

I have no idea. Ruth sounded less chipper than she had only moments earlier.

Getting the door open proved to be a chore, as Katie needed to push it up as well as out. Long ago, the old pickup had developed a hitch in the driver’s door where, if it was pushed so far, it would catch and require a solid pull to close it. Every time Katie inadvertently opened the door to that point in the past, she would complain about the strength needed to shut it again. At that moment, she was thrilled when she heard the metal creak and snap holding the door against the wind.

Thank goodness. I don’t know how I would have gotten it open to get back in, Katie thought. She stepped onto the running board, then reached her foot out for the road or the bank of the ditch. Instead, Katie fell into powdery snow up to her thigh. Holding onto the truck with both hands, she inched toward the back, climbing the ditch bank as she went. The rear wheel was lifted off the ground, and, even worse, the tailpipe located on the other side of the truck was out of sight, buried in the snow.

This was a no-win situation. Only by creeping back toward the front of the truck, ducking under the door, and crawling up the hood, was Katie able to get back into the truck. Metal squealed on metal when she heaved the door closed behind her. By that time, all the heat in the cab had escaped.

Rather than get her snowy pants and jacket against Ruth and the puppy crate, Katie lifted the hemp grain bags that covered the cracked vinyl and rolled them over Ruth’s legs. Once settled, she turned the heater fan on high.

I don’t know where we are, Ruth. I do know I’m not going to be able to back us out of here.

Are we going to have to walk? Ruth asked.

Okay, well, let’s talk about that. Katie wasn’t sure where to start. "We’re in a ditch deep enough so that if you step out, you’ll be up to your waist in snow. You have on low boots, and your legs are bare. That’s an issue. I don’t remember seeing a house, and neither one of us knows which way to go to find one if we can keep on the road. Without a shovel, I would have to stamp around to pack down a path for you."

Ruth gave a shuddering sigh. I guess that means we stay here until someone comes along.

Both she and Katie were considering the fact it was a Sunday night, and they were on a dirt road, not the main street.

Ruth, there’s also the fact the tailpipe is in the snow. We need to make sure the exhaust doesn’t back up.

Ruth sniffed, then reached out to open the vent window. One of the puppies whimpered.

Oh, the babies! Ruth pulled off her mittens and opened the crate.

One by one, she lifted the small dogs out of the piece of blanket. Opening her jacket, she tucked them inside her sweater. Katie watched until Ruth had her jacket buttoned again and her mittens on.

This will keep them warmer, said Ruth.

Katie nodded. When the cab gets warm enough, I’m going to have to shut the truck off.

Unsnapping the latches that held the top and the bottom of the crate together, and stacking one inside the other, made it small enough to shove up onto the dash. Katie slid down the seat until she was right next to Ruth. Wrapping her arms around the older woman, Katie pulled her close, careful not to crush the puppies.

Well, said Ruth. This would be a good time for tea and conversation.

I’d like tea right now, said Katie, with a small laugh. They were silent, each in their own thoughts. Katie worried about how she was going to protect Ruth from the cold. If I leave you here, I could walk to a farmhouse and get help.

No! Katie! Don’t leave me! There was an edge of hysteria in Ruth’s words.

Katie hugged her closer. I’ve got you. I’m right here. We’ll wait. It might get cold, but we’ll wait. We need to stay awake, she thought. You said this was a good time for conversation. Why don’t you tell me about you and Gram?

What about us? asked Ruth.

You know, when you were young. Katie cuddled Ruth closer.

We met in first grade. I was the looker. She was the brat. Ruth continued in a low voice, talking about two country girls in a small school. One, a village kid, and the other a farm girl. If she noticed when Katie shut the truck off, she never said a word.

Eventually, Ruth left the antics of small children and early teens behind and began talking about the lives of young, budding women.

I didn’t know what I was going to do after high school, she said. Your gram went to nursing school. Did you know that? Yes, she made it about halfway through, then the money ran out. It was a two-year course. She had to come home. The plan was to earn enough money for the second year and go back, but your grandfather came along, and as they say, que, sera, sera.

And what did you do? asked Katie. She had been listening with half an ear, knowing she was going to have to go for help, but concerned about Ruth. She touched Ruth’s cheek. The skin was very cold.

Well, let’s see. I made it through high school, even though my parents didn’t think I would. They said I was too flighty. But I had a teacher in school, Mrs. Pelletier, I’m surprised I can remember her name. She was a tartar, I tell you. She taught math. Early on, she must have realized I was good with numbers. Mrs. Pelletier got me extra books and taught me math the other students weren’t learning. She had some big college degree for it. Oh, and she made me learn to type. We all took typing. Mrs. Pelletier just made sure I got lots of practice. Your gram used to complain awfully about it, but I thought it was like a game. I got to be quite fast. Anyway, I knew college wasn’t in my future, but by the time I graduated, I was ready to get out there and make it on my own. My two brothers were in the army. My oldest sister was married and moved off to Rutland, so just Vera and I were at home with my folks.

Where is Vera now? Katie asked.

Florida, the last I heard.

Ruth reached up, wiping the frost off a small patch of window. The snow had piled up, and nothing could be seen. Katie slid over and depressed the clutch to start the truck again. There was a rasping cough, but the engine caught. She opened the vent window on that side before moving back toward Ruth.

Was Rick in your grade? asked Katie, thinking it would be a safe topic.

Actually, Rick was ahead of us. He and your grandfather were of an age, same as my brother. That’s how I met Rick, through my brother.

If the Moser family lived in Charlotte, how did you meet Gram? Wouldn’t she have gone to school there? asked Katie.

Her father was a farmhand on one of Arthur Fortin’s farms. They lived in a small tumble-down cottage on the property. It wasn’t until Irma’s grandparents passed that they moved to the other side of Lover’s Lane, up over the ridge in Charlotte, you know?

Katie smiled in the dark. As a matter of fact, I do.

Yes, said Ruth, with a touch of sadness. Your gram said it was supposed to be better, but I guess it wasn’t. They were dirt poor. Taxes and the like were squeezing them out. Only the orchard kept them alive, and the beef cattle. Anyway, Irma came back from that one year gone to nursing school, a different person. She had bloomed into this pretty and smart young woman. Fred, your poppa, your grandfather, just fell over and never recovered.

The women laughed, and Katie shut the truck off again.

Anyway, they were off together, all googly eyed, Ruth said. I had a couple of boyfriends, and then there was Rick, suddenly Mr. Friendly. It was funny, really. I thought he was keeping track of me because my brother asked him to; seems he had his own ideas. But he didn’t share them with me. Girls made him shy, I guess. Beauregard’s general store had just jumped into the hardware and feed business, you know, besides groceries and mercantile. They were in competition with Baldwins Feed and Hardware for a while, but it didn’t work so well for Beauregard’s. I got a job there helping old Mrs. Beauregard with the books and all. One day, I was working in the office and had to go up front with something for Mr. Beauregard. There was this tall, slim young man standing like a spear in the light coming in through the big front window. He was wearing a pair of pressed trousers and a shirt as white as all this snow. She laughed.

I almost fell over my own feet. I knew who he was, but when he left town for the army, he had been a gangling farmer-looking sort of fellow. And I had been a snot-nosed schoolgirl, four years younger. You should have seen him then, Katie. He stood there among those farmers in their coveralls and boots. All slick. He told me later on that the army was like the prison system. You got one last haircut and a close shave before you hit the road. George Beauregard, the son of the house, had come home. Did I tell you he left a good job in the army? He was some kind of assistant to a highfalutin brass guy. Traveled all over, developed a sheen other guys couldn’t match. He and his father went outside to look at a car he had bought just the day before. I wanted to follow him so bad it was awful. But he never saw me. Just the pride in his old man’s eyes. They were a lot alike. Ruth stopped talking for a few minutes. A heavy sigh finally released her from the past, and she spoke again.

A few days later, he was back in the store. His dad wanted him to work with him, but George wanted something else. He came right out and told his father; he’d stay for a bit and that was it. His younger brother, Christopher, was all about the store. There was some subtle competition there, and they didn’t get along. But the old man wanted his shining star son to be standing beside him. Christopher just sat back and waited. He knew George was all flash in the pan. George didn’t last two weeks in the store before he was off getting hired at the furniture factory. They told him at the hire that with his military record, he’d be a supervisor in no time. He never made it past planer, scrubbing the rough off of planks day in and day out. Mrs. Beauregard seemed to know as well that George wouldn’t stick to anything for long. After George started calling on me, she warned me that he wasn’t the best I could do. I didn’t listen. He saw me in the store when he started working with his old man. The few weeks he worked there, he didn’t do much besides shake hands with people and talk about all the things he had seen and done. I would watch him follow his father around while Christopher did all the actual work. After that first time, George said hello to me, it seemed like every time I turned around, he was there. He smoked these little cigars; he called them cheroots. They smelled like cherry wood, sweet and heavy on the tongue. He talked his father into carrying them in the store. George wouldn’t live with his folks and bought this little two-bedroom house on Mechanicville Road. It was just inside the village proper. He didn’t want to live outside of town. His wingtips were always shined, shirt and pants pressed. He had a girl that came in to do all that and clean the house. I bet she did more too, but no one ever said a word to me. If they had, maybe when things got horrible, and I kept getting slammed around, I would have been better prepared. I might not have been the one found holding the knife when George was murdered.

After that, Ruth got quiet. Katie stared at the back side of Rick’s heavy winter hat, unsure what to say but feeling as though Ruth needed comforting. There was also a lot of confusion in Katie’s thoughts. When she’d met Ruth, the older woman had said her husband had been murdered, and though she had been right there when it happened, she was innocent. Just now, Ruth said she’d been holding the knife. Then, too, before Ruth had been defiant, now she sounded sad.

Is it because she was there and couldn’t stop it, or guilt because she killed him? Katie wondered. Why, if they had gone their separate ways, was Gram so quick to take Ruth in? Where is the rest of Ruth’s family?

Katie inhaled the smell of wet wool and cold exhaust, exhaling slowly. She needed time to think. The small space was closing in on her. The white mist of her own breath rose before her eyes, sending her sliding over the seat to start the truck. Knocking it into neutral, she left it to idle. Ruth was shivering. If she had to venture a guess, Katie might have thought the older woman was weeping as well. The inside of the truck cab wasn’t getting warm fast. It was time to make a decision about going for help.

Ruth, Katie said gently. We can’t stay here. This isn’t going to work. I have to go for help.

You said you wouldn’t leave me here, whispered Ruth, forehead