Chapter Two

  Over dinner, Dylan and I chatted about our workday. Dylan, who was a private investigator, was glowing because after interviewing the employees of one of his clients, he was pretty sure he now knew which one of them was stealing supplies. I told him about the article Sally had all but ordered me to write. And then, as usually happened in the past several months, the subject of our wedding took over.

  “My cousin Judy Reiner RSVP’d to say she and her husband are coming,” I said.

  “And now that Bosco’s cousin Willie is out of the hospital and can make it, we have a full table of Singletons,” Dylan said.

  “Looks that way. Let’s take care of the table arrangements this weekend.”

  “Okay, and I’d like to stop over at Victor’s tomorrow to decide the best way to arrange the chairs for the ceremony,” Dylan said.

  “Let’s do it in the afternoon. The seamstress at the wedding store finished the alterations on my gown and Angela and Julia’s dresses. We’re meeting at eleven for a final fitting, then I’m treating them to brunch.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  I cleared the table and dished out ice cream for our dessert. Dylan brought his into the living room to eat while he looked through the packet of information our travel agent had sent us. He returned to the kitchen and placed his empty dish and spoon in the dishwasher as I was wiping down the table.

  “For some reason, they no longer have the room we requested. But looks like we’ll be getting an upgrade for the same price.”

  “That’s fine with me.” I gave him a quick kiss. “All done here. Next, I’m starting that article about Verity Babcock.”

  “Such efficiency,” Dylan said, hugging me close.

  “See you when I’m done.”

  Smoky Joe followed me into the guest room and settled himself on the bed while I sat down at my laptop. My plan was to whip up a rough copy and edit it afterward. I thought a minute, then began typing.

  Though my family has lived in Clover Ridge for generations, I had never heard of Verity Babcock or knew of the terrible miscarriage of justice that ended her life in 1652. It was only after the recent expansion of our library, when I was helping Norman Tobin, our reference librarian, put the pamphlets, papers, and artifacts of our new and larger Historical Room in order, that I came upon Verity Babcock’s diary. We have no record of how or when the diary arrived at the library, but we assume that one of her descendants must have donated it many years ago.

  In it, Verity recorded her growing terror as friends and neighbors accused her of witchcraft, of which she had no knowledge.

  I paused to allow the emotional impact of Verity’s diary sweep over me. Since I’d read it, the details had been branded in my mind. Verity had been widowed at an early age and left to support her son and daughter. Verity’s mother had taught her how to heal illnesses, wounds, and insect and animal bites with herbs, and thus she was able to feed her small family and look after their livestock. Both children married and moved to other communities.

  When one of her patients, her neighbor, died of pneumonia after ingesting the herbal potion she’d prepared for him, his widow spread the word that Verity was consorting with Satan and had poisoned her husband. Verity’s terror grew as more townspeople claimed that her herbal remedies had made them or their livestock ill instead of improving their health. Finally, the matter was brought before the local magistrate. The diary ended there.

  I’d done my research and learned that Verity’s case had gone before a higher court, then to a grand jury for indictment and finally to a trial by jury. Witnesses came forth with supposed evidence that her remedies had brought them close to death. A townsman, who had often tried to cheat her when she shopped at his store, claimed she had poisoned his chickens. Verity knew he was lying, as was the neighbor who insisted his cow had died after eating her herbal cure. She was found guilty of witchcraft and hung soon after her trial.

  I decided to add a few quotes that I’d copied from the diary, because they best illustrated Verity’s emotional state as the accusations piled up, as well as the preposterous allegations that the court and the judge accepted as factual. One neighbor said Verity had caused her to have cramps, and two young girls swore they’d seen her dancing naked on the Green with a goat.

  To think that people who had lived in a small village would make up such awful stories about one of their neighbors! Of course, some did it out of malice and in hopes of gaining the victim’s property for themselves. For others it might have been a form of group hysteria. The laws and religion of Colonial America were rigid and strict, and anyone who didn’t toe the line might be considered evil. And so many innocent people had been victimized. Some, like Verity Babcock, had even lost their lives.

  I typed this up, saved the document, and turned off my computer. I planned to go over it tomorrow, then send it to Chuck Ryland and cc Sally. As I went to join Dylan in the living room, where he was watching TV, I wondered why I’d made such a fuss about writing the article when this case of injustice inflicted on a woman centuries ago made my blood boil. Thank goodness it had little relevance to anything that might happen today.

  * * *

  Saturday turned out to be another beautifully sunny day. I found a note from Dylan telling me he’d gone to the gym. I took my time over breakfast, then put my wedding shoes in a tote bag and drove to the wedding store in the mall. Angela and Julia had gone there with me back in December. Maisie, the petite saleswoman, who couldn’t be more than twenty-three, had brought out several gowns, all of which were too froufrou for my taste, or included enough yards of satin to make a very long table cloth.

  And then she’d showed me the gown I’d chosen. Angela, Julia, and Maisie all agreed it was the one. It had a strapless bodice, off-the-shoulder appliqués, and a beautiful fall of lace over a satin A-line skirt. It fitted me perfectly except that the skirt needed to be shortened.

  Maisie spotted me the moment I entered the shop. She hurried over. “Miss Carrie, your gown is ready. Do you want to try it on now?”

  “I’d love to.” I followed her to a cubicle at the back of the store. “Angela and Julia should be arriving any minute now.”

  “I’ll tell them you’re here. And I’ll get their dresses as soon as I bring you yours.”

  She returned soon after, my wedding gown draped over her arm. “Would you like me to help you into your gown?”

  “Why don’t I call you when I have it on so you can zip me up?”

  “Will do,” she chirped, and left as quickly as she’d appeared.

  I peeled down to my underwear and stepped carefully into my wedding gown. Holding the top against me, I peered out the curtain and called to Maisie. She came quickly, a broad grin on her face.

  “Your two attendants have arrived.”

  I turned around so she could zip me up. Then I slipped into my white satin strappy shoes and stepped outside the cubicle, to stand in front of the three-way mirror. Angela and Julia began to clap.

  “You look stunning!” Maisie declared. Her glance fell to my hem. “And the length is perfect.

  Angela handed me the veil she’d worn at her wedding a year ago. “Put it on. Let’s see how it looks.”

  Maisie dashed off to get a few bobby pins as I fiddled with the veil. It was short and lacy and a perfect match for my dress. Maisie returned and adjusted the veil with a practiced hand so it draped just over my forehead. She placed two bobby pins in and stood back. “Voilà!”

  Angela and Julia clapped again.

  I grinned at myself in the mirror. I looked pretty damn good if I had to say so myself. Back in my cubicle, Maisie unzipped my gown. I removed my wedding attire and got back into my normal clothes. Maisie carried the gown and the veil to the front of the shop while I waited to see my matrons of honor in their dresses.

  My wedding colors were lavender, teal, and gold. Both Angela and Julia had chosen lavender dresses that only required minor adjustments. Angela’s was a pale satin sheath with a V-neck bodice and side cutouts that showed off her tall and willowy figure. Julia’s chiffon dress was a darker shade; its sweetheart neckline, beaded bodice, and flowing skirt flattered her curvier lines. Tacey’s satin flower-girl dress was teal and fitted her perfectly.

  My attendants looked spectacular in their dresses and were pleased with the alterations. So was Maisie. Young though she was, she certainly knew how wedding dresses were supposed to fit.

  We gathered up our finery, and Angela and Julia followed me in their cars to the Inn on the Green. The Inn was several hundred years old and faced the side of the Green adjacent to the library. While I’d eaten here several times, I’d never had the chance to try their weekend brunch. I’d heard the selections were varied and delicious, and I was eager to sample them for myself.

  We were seated at a square table next to one of the large windows that looked out on the Green. Our server, an elderly gentleman, asked if we’d like a Bloody Mary, mimosa, or champagne. We all opted for champagne.

  It was pure heaven, starting with breakfast-style food like waffles and omelets, then salads and pastas, and finally seafood and meat dishes. I had to remember to take only a small amount of each delicious offering, or I’d never manage to eat any of the Inn’s famous cakes and their outstanding bread pudding.

  We chatted in between bites of food—about my upcoming wedding, about Tacey and Mark, and about Scampi, Angela and Steve’s little Maltipoo. Though I was literally half a block from where I worked, I felt as though I were on vacation. Here we sat, three women sharing a leisurely meal, something we rarely had time for in our busy schedules.

  “Did you make any headway with that article Sally asked you to write?” Angela asked. We were drinking the last of our coffee over half-eaten desserts.

  “I wrote it last night,” I said. “I’ll go over it later or tomorrow, then send it to Chuck Ryland at the Gazette.”

  Angela patted my shoulder. “Good for you, Carrie. I knew you’d get it done.”

  “Once I got started, it practically wrote itself. I fume every time I think about how that poor woman suffered.” I grimaced. “It’s Sally’s high-handed attitude that irks me when she orders me to do something that’s not in my job description.”

  Angela laughed. “She knows you’re more than capable of writing an article for the newspaper.”

  “What are you talking about?” Julia asked. “What article have you written for the newspaper?”

  “While putting the new Historical Room in order, I came upon the diary that Verity Babcock wrote before she was hung as a witch.”

  “I remember learning about Verity Babcock,” Julia said. “I wrote an essay about her in high school.”

  “Did you?” I said, suddenly interested. Julia had grown up in a town about twenty miles north of Clover Ridge.

  “Oh yes. We learned about the Connecticut residents who were hung as witches in my ninth-grade social studies class. You would think she’d have been exonerated by now.”

  “She never was?” I asked, wondering why I’d never looked into this myself.

  “None of the people who were hung as witches were,” Julia said. She glanced at her watch. “Oh my! It’s twenty to two. I really have to get going.”

  “Me too,” Angela said. “I told Steve I’d go shopping with him. There’s a sale on tools, and he wants to buy a few.”

  “I need to head out as well,” I said. “Now that we have our final number of guests, Dylan wants to drive over to Victor’s house to figure out how best to arrange the chairs for the ceremony.”

  “Are Victor and Babette still an item?” Angela asked.

  “Most definitely. Right now he’s away on a business trip and flying home on Tuesday.”

  I settled the bill and we walked outside into the bright sunshine.

  Julia hugged me. “Carrie, thanks so much for this delightful brunch. I enjoyed it immensely. I’m honored to be one of your matrons of honor.”

  “The honor is mine, cuz.”

  Angela seized me in a bear hug. “I’m so happy you’re getting married.”

  I hugged her back, blinking back tears. Angela had been the first person to befriend me when I came to work at the library as an aide, doing whatever low-level tasks needed to be done. Since then, the many adventures we’d shared had only drawn us closer.

  “I love you, BFF,” I said.

  “Back at ya!”

  * * *

  I drove home slowly, reflecting on my life and how lucky I was. I was marrying the man I adored. I had wonderful friends and relatives, and a job I really loved. I had my wedding to look forward to, followed by a honeymoon in Greece. An abundance of riches!

  Dylan was waiting for me when I got to the cottage. I put away my wedding finery in the guest room closet and gave Smoky Joe some attention and a few treats. Then we climbed into Dylan’s BMW and set out for Victor’s house.

  “Right now we’re seventy-eight people, including us and our wedding party,” Dylan said as we drove past the manor house. “Victor’s living room can easily accommodate that number once all the furniture is removed. Today I want to figure out if the chairs should face the large bay window or the den.”

  “I always thought the bay window was the best place for the altar.”

  “It certainly is the most dramatic,” Dylan agreed. “But arranging the chairs the other way may give us more room so our guests won’t feel cramped. We’ll have a better idea when we’re at the house and can measure how much space each chair will take up after we figure in the aisle.”

  “Yes. The aisle has to be wide enough to allow our matrons of honor and groomsmen to stand as my dad walks beside me.” I thought a minute. “Eight or nine rows of seats should do it.”

  “I also want to check out the deck, where we’ll be having appetizers and drinks after the ceremony. Decide on the best place for the bar.”

  “And how many small tables we can fit in.”

  “Victor texted me this morning,” Dylan said. “He’s still planning to fly home from Bruges on Tuesday unless something comes up.”

  “How nice that he gave us the key to his house so we can stop by when he’s not there,” I said.

  “And how happy it seems to make him that we’re getting married in his home, when he’s the one doing us the biggest of favors.”

  “I know,” I agreed. “In the past few months he’s become one of our closest friends.”

  We drove onto the semicircular driveway and parked in front of the door. The house was both elegant and well proportioned, but cozy at the same time. I mentally compared it to the houses Dylan and I had looked at and considered buying, but none came close to its appeal. Dylan unlocked the front door and disengaged the alarm system. It felt strange coming here without Victor to welcome us with Raspie—Rasputin, his borzoi—at his side.

  Since Victor’s home was complete with motion sensor lighting, the hall brightened as soon as we stepped inside. As usual, I admired the array of paintings on the walls and the pre-Columbian figures on their stands.

  Dylan and I headed straight for the living room. He’d brought along a tape measure and quickly measured the length and width of the room. We brought in two kitchen chairs and measured how much room each took up, as well as the necessary amount of space that allowed for each guest’s comfort and the requisite aisle. Since it was apparent that we could arrange the chairs either way, it was a no-brainer to have them face the lovely bay window. That accomplished, we walked along the hall to the kitchen and unlocked the back door leading to the deck.

  The floor consisted of gray wooden slats set diagonally across an expanse as long as the kitchen it backed, and twenty feet wide. It was certainly large enough to accommodate almost eighty people and perhaps nine very small round tables. Not enough seats for everyone, but a wooden bench ran along the deck’s railing for a good part of the deck.

  I made a mental note to rent long pads for the bench so my guests wouldn’t snag their clothing. I was glad to see that the fuchsia New Guinea impatiens, in pots every ten feet or so around the parameter, were in full bloom. Clearly, Victor had arranged for his gardener to water the plants while he was away.

  Dylan came to stand beside me, and we gazed out at the spectacular scene before us. Three steps down from the deck was the expansive lawn, which stretched out the length of a football field before sloping gently down to the Long Island Sound. Tall oaks and lilac bushes bordered both sides of the property while rose bushes thrived in the garden to the left of the steps.

  “Lovely, isn’t it?” Dylan said as he slipped an arm around my waist.

  “So peaceful.”

  “Would you like to live in a house like this?”

  “Maybe one day. In the near future I’d rather live in a development filled with kids that’s close to a school.”

  The gazebo below caught my attention. “Though I’d love to have a gazebo in our backyard.”

  Dylan laughed. “I don’t know about that. After we put in an inground pool and a swing set, there probably won’t be room for a gazebo.”

  “The kids might want a trampoline,” I said. “Julia and Randy just got one. Mark and Tacey are crazy about it.”

  “Who knows what fad will be popular when we have kids their age,” Dylan said.

  We grinned at each other. Something to look forward to and find out.

  I noticed a long object on the ground a few feet from the gazebo. It was difficult to make out what it was since it was lying where the lawn began to slope down, and the sun was shining in my eyes.

  I grabbed Dylan’s arm. “What’s that?”

  Dylan took off down the steps. I chased after him. When I caught up with him, he was crouching beside the body of a man in his mid-twenties, who lay stretched out on his back, an expression of pain on his face.