that moment to come out the back door, apparently oblivious to the scene in the driveway. She stopped abruptly when she saw Meg, Seth, and Marcus standing together. “Oh, I, uh…Hello, Bill.”
“Lauren.” Marcus nodded. “I didn’t know you were in town.”
“Just for a bit. I’m working for…a politician. And I’m late for a meeting, and it looks like all these vehicles are in the way of my car. Would you mind moving them? Please?” Lauren plastered on a smile.
Apparently it worked, because Marcus returned to his cruiser and left, and Seth pulled out after him but waited in the road, freeing a path for Lauren. As the two women stood watching the men maneuver, Lauren said to Meg, “Well, that was awkward.”
“Did your thing with Marcus not end well?”
Lauren shrugged. “He didn’t quite get why I found him stuffy, I guess. Anyway, since he’s in Northampton, I didn’t think I’d be running into him, not here in Granford. What’s going on?”
“I don’t know yet—he said Seth could tell me.”
“Well, you’ll have to bring me up to speed later. I’ve got to go.” She hurried to her car, started it, and reversed out of the driveway with a cheery wave.
Meg stayed where she was until Seth returned to the driveway and climbed out of his car. “What was that all about?” she asked as he approached. Up close Seth looked even more worried.
“Can we go inside?”
“Sure,” Meg said. Within five minutes they were seated around the kitchen table. She took a deep breath, preparing herself for what she figured had to be bad news. “Okay, Seth, what’s going on?”
Seth looked as though he’d rather do anything else than talk about this. “In case you didn’t guess, the man you sent back to see me was Ethan Truesdell, Joyce’s husband. According to Detective Marcus, the autopsy showed that Joyce Truesdell wasn’t killed by an accidental kick—she was murdered.”
“Oh my God, that’s awful! The poor man. I thought he looked pretty ragged. If I’d known, I would have said something to him.” said Meg. “But wait—why was there an autopsy? Was there anything suspicious about the…accident?”
“No, nothing like that. In Massachusetts, any unattended death means there has to be an autopsy. That’s just routine.”
“And the medical examiner found something?”
“You sure you want to hear this? It’s not pretty.”
“The outline, at least.”
“As far as it’s been determined, Joyce was alone in the wooden stall, on a low stool, milking a cow. You should know from your own barn, Meg, just how small that kind of stall is. Not that it was a very big cow—she’s young, and she’s a Guernsey, a breed that runs small anyway. Joyce had plenty of experience with cows and with milking, so she knew what she was doing. That’s not to say that accidents don’t happen, and a small percentage of those are serious.
“The cow had just calved for the first time, and she wasn’t used to being milked—Ethan mentioned that. That’s why Joyce was doing it by hand, which is not the way it’s usually done these days, but she was kind of babying this cow, which was skittish, and apparently she kicked. Again, not unusual. It looked like Joyce fell off the stool when the cow kicked her and hit her head on the side of the stall, hard enough to fracture her skull.”
“What part of that wasn’t an accident?” Meg asked.
“Because there was more than one blow to the head, and the shape of the blows indicates a weapon, not a hoof or a wall. Someone hit her, more than once.”
Meg was stunned into momentary silence, and then a flood of questions emerged. “Wait—who? Why? How do they know?”
“Marcus said that once they saw the autopsy results, he sent someone back to the barn to take a closer look. They found an old metal grain shovel, in plain sight, with minute traces of Joyce’s hair and blood on it. It would have been heavy enough to do what it took. Somebody did a pretty
“Lauren.” Marcus nodded. “I didn’t know you were in town.”
“Just for a bit. I’m working for…a politician. And I’m late for a meeting, and it looks like all these vehicles are in the way of my car. Would you mind moving them? Please?” Lauren plastered on a smile.
Apparently it worked, because Marcus returned to his cruiser and left, and Seth pulled out after him but waited in the road, freeing a path for Lauren. As the two women stood watching the men maneuver, Lauren said to Meg, “Well, that was awkward.”
“Did your thing with Marcus not end well?”
Lauren shrugged. “He didn’t quite get why I found him stuffy, I guess. Anyway, since he’s in Northampton, I didn’t think I’d be running into him, not here in Granford. What’s going on?”
“I don’t know yet—he said Seth could tell me.”
“Well, you’ll have to bring me up to speed later. I’ve got to go.” She hurried to her car, started it, and reversed out of the driveway with a cheery wave.
Meg stayed where she was until Seth returned to the driveway and climbed out of his car. “What was that all about?” she asked as he approached. Up close Seth looked even more worried.
“Can we go inside?”
“Sure,” Meg said. Within five minutes they were seated around the kitchen table. She took a deep breath, preparing herself for what she figured had to be bad news. “Okay, Seth, what’s going on?”
Seth looked as though he’d rather do anything else than talk about this. “In case you didn’t guess, the man you sent back to see me was Ethan Truesdell, Joyce’s husband. According to Detective Marcus, the autopsy showed that Joyce Truesdell wasn’t killed by an accidental kick—she was murdered.”
“Oh my God, that’s awful! The poor man. I thought he looked pretty ragged. If I’d known, I would have said something to him.” said Meg. “But wait—why was there an autopsy? Was there anything suspicious about the…accident?”
“No, nothing like that. In Massachusetts, any unattended death means there has to be an autopsy. That’s just routine.”
“And the medical examiner found something?”
“You sure you want to hear this? It’s not pretty.”
“The outline, at least.”
“As far as it’s been determined, Joyce was alone in the wooden stall, on a low stool, milking a cow. You should know from your own barn, Meg, just how small that kind of stall is. Not that it was a very big cow—she’s young, and she’s a Guernsey, a breed that runs small anyway. Joyce had plenty of experience with cows and with milking, so she knew what she was doing. That’s not to say that accidents don’t happen, and a small percentage of those are serious.
“The cow had just calved for the first time, and she wasn’t used to being milked—Ethan mentioned that. That’s why Joyce was doing it by hand, which is not the way it’s usually done these days, but she was kind of babying this cow, which was skittish, and apparently she kicked. Again, not unusual. It looked like Joyce fell off the stool when the cow kicked her and hit her head on the side of the stall, hard enough to fracture her skull.”
“What part of that wasn’t an accident?” Meg asked.
“Because there was more than one blow to the head, and the shape of the blows indicates a weapon, not a hoof or a wall. Someone hit her, more than once.”
Meg was stunned into momentary silence, and then a flood of questions emerged. “Wait—who? Why? How do they know?”
“Marcus said that once they saw the autopsy results, he sent someone back to the barn to take a closer look. They found an old metal grain shovel, in plain sight, with minute traces of Joyce’s hair and blood on it. It would have been heavy enough to do what it took. Somebody did a pretty
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