Death at Wildbough

Death at WildboughA Berkshire Hills MysteryByStarr DiethornStonington, Massachusetts, 1978“When Envy breeds unkind division: there comes the ruin, there begins confusion.”William Shakespeare For my parents, Vera and Leo,Who taught me the great joy of reading This is a work of fiction. Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents in this book are either the product of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Table of ContentsChapter 1Chapter 2Chapter 3Chapter 4Chapter 5Chapter 6Chapter 7Chapter 8Chapter 9Chapter 10Chapter 11Chapter 12Chapter 13Chapter 14Chapter 15Chapter 16Chapter 17Chapter 18Chapter 19Chapter 20Chapter 21Chapter 22Chapter 23Chapter 24Chapter 25Chapter 26Chapter 27Chapter 28Chapter 29Chapter 30Chapter 31Chapter 32Chapter 33Chapter 34Chapter 35Chapter 36Chapter 37Chapter 38Chapter 39Chapter 40Chapter 41Chapter 42Chapter 43Chapter 44Chapter 45Chapter 45Chapter 47Chapter 48Chapter 49Chapter 50Chapter 51Chapter 52Chapter 53Chapter 54Chapter 55Chapter 56 CHAPTER 1Murder was the last thing on her mind that hot August Saturday as Rose Hudson drove up Pleasant Hill Road, anticipating the concert at Wildbough. The day was oppressively warm, but the skies were clear, ensuring the stars would be visible when her volunteer shift ended. She didn’t mind the humid weather now that she knew how cold the coming Berkshire winter would be. And a sunny sky was always preferable to the constant damp and rainy English seasons she had grown up with. Today she welcomed the long summer day, feeling cool and comfortable in a light cotton dress and sandals, her hair pinned up in a French twist. She was glad her dark-blonde strands still hid most of the silver streaks.That evening, Justin Burton, the famous violinist, would perform an all-Beethoven program, Violin Concerto Symphony No. 7, and she looked forward to not only seeing the handsome virtuoso perform but also to be immersed in the joyful music.“There you are.” Sarita, her best friend, greeted her as they met in the parking lot. “I’m so excited I might burst. Imagine. The one and only Justin Burton playing in front of our very eyes in just a few hours. I still can’t believe it.” Her petite, slim friend wore a star-struck expression as she gushed like a teenager, her wavy brown hair bouncing on her shoulders.“Yes, it’s thrilling, isn’t it?” Rose was tickled by her friend’s enthusiasm, although she wasn’t as elated by the upcoming performance. Having never seen Burton play before a live audience, she wasn’t quite sure what all the fuss was about.“Wait until you see him Rose. He’s gorgeous and sexy, and he plays the violin like an angel.” Her deep brown eyes took on a dreamy expression as she hugged her body, oblivious to the wrinkles forming on her saffron silk sari.“I’m sure he’s a dreamboat. Come on then, let’s check in and get our ushering assignments. Then we’ll set up our chairs.”Sarita wore an infectious smile as she traipsed beside Rose to the volunteer table stationed by the west barn entrance. The long-time volunteer director, Henry Simms, was busy directing his staff and answering questions. A large, burly man, he wore blue short-sleeve shirt with tan pants and frequently wiped his forehead with a handkerchief.“Rose and Sarita. Hello girls,” he said, smiling. “Whew. It’s a hot one.”Rose studied his hefty body with concern, noticing the sweat stains on his shirt. Mr. Simms was a kind man and an energetic director, but his poor health worried many of the volunteers and she could see the insufferable heat was distressing him.“Hello, Mr. Simms,” Rose replied. “Yes, it’s certainly perishing.” She signed the volunteer sheet and noted her assigned section for the evening before handing the pen to Sarita.As they left, Rose whispered under her breath. “He looked dreadful, don’t you think?”“Yes, poor man. His health seems to get worse every year,” Sarita said. “Standing outside in the hot sun isn’t good for him. I wish he’d wear a hat or use an umbrella.”“I’m sure he’ll take a break soon. He must be used to these conditions. Let’s go claim our spot. It’ll be crowded tonight with a musical luminary performing.” Rose put Mr. Simms out of her thoughts as they strolled across the soft, green grass.The five hundred acres comprising the Wildbough property was poetically pastoral. A treasured music venue in the beautiful Berkshire hills, it was once owned by a wealthy railroad baron whose descendants donated the land to give a permanent summer home to a symphony orchestra.The immense manicured lawns on the property were anchored by clusters of tall mature trees. During the day, songbirds flitted among the eastern white pines, oaks, maples, birches, and weeping beeches and at dusk, bats emerged, beating their tiny wings as they swooped above the crowds. The western view from the main lawn was breathtaking—a series of hills, each a unique shade of blue and grey, undulated across the state as far as the eye could see. At dusk, the colorful sunsets across the distant peaks were spectacular, bathing the panorama in a dream-like combination of pastel hues. Rose never tired of the enchanting location and appreciated her good fortune to enjoy it every weekend.Carrying their lawn chairs and belongings, Rose and Sarita wound their way through the early concertgoers. Thousands of people sat on blankets and folding seats, chatting, and eating picnics, as children ran about playing, their voices ringing brightly. Most amusing to Rose were the occasional highbrow, fancy picnic settings embellished with elegant tablecloths, candelabra, China porcelain, and silverware. Passing by the delicious smells of gourmet meals never failed to entice her. Perhaps someday, she and Sarita could attempt to elevate their own sparse settings. When they arrived at their favorite spot, they unfolded their chairs and placed their coolers on a small blanket before returning to the barn to begin their shift. This was their routine every weekend afternoon and Rose knew their items would remain safe among the music-loving crowd.Rose and Sarita had met at the library book club soon after Rose moved to Stonington the previous year in 1978.