B T Lord [Lord - A Perfect Case of Murder

Copyright Bety Comerford (B.T. Lord)

All rights reserved.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the authors imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

No part of this book may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.

ISBN-13: 978-1546406655
ISBN-10: 1546406654

Cover Art by Michelle Motuzas

Cover Design by Alison Ouellette

Other books in the Twin Ponds Mystery Series:

Murder on Ice

Murder by Misadventure

To Alison O., Allison C., and Maureen

You make these books what they are
Thank you from the bottom of my heart

PROLOGUE

Allagash, Maine

Mid-April

Win Sackett slowly made his way down the well-worn path that snaked its way through the dense forest. Hed been walking this trail ever since he was a young child; hard to believe that was seventy years ago. Although life had buffeted him about, he always took comfort that these woods had been here before hed been born and, God willing, would be here long after he was gone. There was a permanency here that hed never found anywhere else. The world had changed much since his birth, but these woods never did. They remained the same, an oasis of solace, away from the craziness of out there.

He paused for a moment to catch his breath beside an old oak where, as a young man, hed carved his initials along with those of Darla, the girl he eventually married. Reaching up with his gnarled finger, he gently traced the faded letters, chuckling at the memory of that long ago summer day. The chuckling brought on a bout of coughing that brought his lightheartedness to an end.

Damn it, he used to be able to sprint down this path and never think twice about it. Now, his knees ached, his hands shook from palsy, and he found it difficult at times to catch his breath. But until the Grim Reaper decided to make his appearance, Win was determined to complete this errand. He had to. It was now his responsibility.

His family had been living in this area since the mid-1800s, originally brought here by the logging business. As each generation passed, it fell to the last remaining member to take on the task of caring for those who came before. Each spring when the harsh weather broke, the snows melted and hints of balmy days appeared, Win took the increasingly arduous journey of walking the mile between his cabin and the small parcel of land that served as his familys graveyard. There, he tidied up each plot and made any repairs to the tombstones that might not have survived the heavy snows. Then he would perch himself on the large pile of rocks that sat in the corner of the small cemetery and talk to the nearest gravestone. That was where Darla was buried. Hed tell her what hed been up to since hed visited last fall, how the kids, grandkids and great grandkids were doing out in the world, away from the place theyd grown up in. Hed tell her he missed her, still loved her and assure her that soon hed be joining her. Then hed haul his old bones up and shuffle along the mile long walk back to his cabin. Hed make this trip several more times before winter set in, wondering each time if this would be his last visit.

Win shifted the backpack on his shoulder where he carried his pruners, a small shovel, and a repair kit for the stone. Last year, the corner of one of the tombstones had broken off and it took him hours to put it back in place. He hoped he wouldnt find any more broken stone this year. He wasnt sure he had the stamina, but hed feel guilty if he left it broken -- an affront to the ancestor buried there.

The end of the forest was just ahead. He had one more hill to get over, then the panoramic vista would open up, revealing a huge, rolling meadow. In the distance, hed see mountains and a stream meandering through the landscape. In the past, this had been one of his favorite views. He would sit for hours in the graveyard and just stare at the magnificence of nature. But now the scene was ruined by a cabin, barn and paddock that had been built four years before.

He still shook his head in sadness and a twinge of anger. In order to pay off some large tax bills, his brother, just before he died, sold off much of the family land, including the plot where the family cemetery was located. It had been bought by a woman from Boston, whod immediately proceeded to put up a luxurious cabin and barn for her chickens, ducks, goats and mare. Win had been furious, but by the time he found out, it was too late. Hed descended on the woman, and although he found her cold and impervious, he did at least manage to extract an agreement that she would allow him to come as often as he wanted to tend the family cemetery. It was the only concession she made. Soon stories began to circulate in the small town of Allagash that she was forbidding everyone to trespass on her land, even though locals had been hunting and fishing there for years. Henry Harding was in outright revolt against the old woman, taking her to court over violation of their centurys old rights of way that lay across her property.

Win called her a crispy critter, one of those environmental types that took the idea of a virgin wilderness too far. It was said she wouldnt allow so much as a twig to be taken off her property. Nevertheless, so far hed managed not to offend her, and he planned to keep it that way. As much as a proud man like him loathed to admit it, she had him over a barrel. If he wanted to continue to tend to the family cemetery, he needed to keep his mouth shut.

The old man was huffing and puffing by the time he got over the hill. He stopped once more to catch his breath and gazed over the meadow, pointedly ignoring the womans cabin that lay to the left of the trail that passed by the cemetery and looped down towards her home. Thankfully, his destination was to the right, bordering the forest not too far from the path.

He turned that way now, hoping he wouldnt need to do too much clean-up. In the distance, he heard the sounds of something crashing against something else, its eerie echo reverberating around him.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

He stopped and looked around. It was then he noticed the gate to the cemetery blowing back and forth in the swift breeze that blew up the valley towards the forest. The plot was surrounded by an old and rusted wrought iron fence that had been placed there at the end of the 19 th century. The gate itself was usually closed; there was no need for locks since there wasnt anything of value to steal.

As he approached, he wondered how the gate had come loose. The latch was tight. He always made sure it was securely fastened each time he left.

This could only mean one thing.

Someone had entered the cemetery.

Damn it. He hoped to God kids hadnt knocked down the tombstones in a sick attempt at having fun. It would take him forever, and use stamina he didnt have anymore, to fix the twenty or so gravestones.

A few yards from the cemetery, he caught sight of something that made him slow his step. Something that was out of place. Something that didnt belong.

The thought of potential vandalism was instantly forgotten as he suddenly felt apprehensive. Not afraid, but wary of how this was going to affect his life. His first thought was to turn around and pretend he hadnt seen anything. He was 78 years old, for chrissakes. He didnt need any hassles. And this promised to be a doozy. Yet, being the man he was, Win pushed himself forward, praying that what he was seeing wasnt quite what he was seeing.