A Country Meadow Murder (Julia Bird Mysteries #9)

Chapter 1

The clouds cruised slowly across the sky, and patches of sun and shade danced over the meadow.

The picnic blankets dotted around it looked like colourful islands adrift in a sea of fresh green.

Julia and Sean had set up their blanket at the edge of the field next to a stand of weeping willow trees.

Their long, drooping branches and narrow leaves gave the couple a dappling of shade.

They were seated in matching green camping chairs.

They’d agreed that they were not of an age where one might lounge comfortably on the hard ground.

Indeed, they were of an age at which, if one did rashly decide to lounge on the ground, getting up would prove challenging and, likely, undignified.

Seated on a chair, each with a plate balanced on a knee and a cheese sandwich balanced on a plate, with Julia’s dog, Jake, and Sean’s dog, Leo, lying at their feet hoping for dropped scraps, they could enjoy the passing parade in comfort.

And what a sight it was.

A little girl in a red dress skipped by, pulling a kite in the shape of a butterfly.

Two blonde plaits bounced on her shoulders and up into the air, in time with her frolicking.

The breeze caught the kite and held it fluttering above her.

A black Scottie dog followed in her footsteps, its little legs a blur as it ran its very fastest to keep up with the skipping girl.

In the distance, a trio of young flautists played a pretty and energetic tune, to the delight of a small group of children who were doing something between a dash and a dance.

Determined walkers in hiking shoes trudged the perimeter of the field, getting their steps in. Teenage sweethearts ambled hand in hand. Dogs gambolled, or chased balls, or lay sunning themselves on rugs. Old friends greeted each other in pleasant surprise.

‘I must say, we couldn’t have wished for a better day for the spring picnic,’ Julia said. ‘It is perfect – sunny, but not too hot, a bit of cloud, the gentlest of breezes.’

‘Yes, the weather has been particularly co-operative,’ said Sean. ‘It often seems to take the word “spring” as a challenge. Remember last year?’

‘How could I forget? It actually hailed! We had to run to the car. I had bruises!’ Julia laughed at the memory.

‘It looks like a scene from a movie, or perhaps an old painting,’ Sean said. ‘Everyone happily going about their business on a lovely Sunday morning.’

Julia sneezed, three times in quick succession.

‘Hay fever?’ Sean asked in his doctor voice.

‘Yes, just a touch. You know how I get in spring.’

‘Let me know if you need anything for it.’

A group of boys kicked a football around as Jake looked longingly on, his brown eyes bright with desire. He would like nothing more than to lumber over there and join in, but he was on a lead draped loosely over Julia’s knee.

‘You’re right. An idyllic scene where the world is beautiful and people are kind, and not a thing could go wrong if it tried…’

As she spoke, a mistimed kick sent the boys’ ball rolling onto a tartan rug laid out close to Julia’s, where it knocked a mug of tea out of the hand of a woman in a large sun hat printed with bright yellow sunflowers.

‘Sorry, Mummy!’ the boy said, running towards her, a disarming grin on his sweet freckled face. He looked so much like his mother that a stranger could have picked them out of a line-up.

‘Does this look like a football pitch to you, Tom?’ snapped the woman, picking up the mug and shifting away from the puddle of tea spreading on the rug next to her. ‘I was looking forward to that tea. And now look…’

‘Sorry about that, Mummy,’ the boy said, blowing her a kiss and turning to dribble the ball speedily away before she said anything further.

‘They’ll be the death of me, those boys,’ the woman muttered to herself in a sort of affectionate grump. ‘They’ve got a whole meadow to play in, and where do they kick the ball? Right on top of me and my picnic. Spilling every last drop of my tea.’

Julia and Sean exchanged a glance and smiled, acknowledging the impossibility of any truly trouble-free idyllic scene where ‘not a thing could go wrong if it tried’.

At least spilt tea was the kind of disturbance that could be easily fixed, thought Julia.

She addressed the tea-less woman: ‘We’ve got two big flasks of tea.

Earl Grey, no milk. Or Ceylon with milk.

More than we can drink. If you fancy a cup of either of those, you’re very welcome. Can I top you up?’

‘Ah, that’s very kind, I won’t say no.’ She held out her hand. ‘Milky tea, please.’

Julia poured the tea into the outstretched cup, filling it generously.

‘Thank you.’

The woman took a sip, and gave a sigh of pleasure.

She lowered her cup of hot tea carefully onto a flat bit of grass and picked up a biscuit tin that looked as if it had probably belonged to her grandmother.

She removed the lid with its faded picture of a wide-eyed kitten and held the tin out to them: ‘And can I give you a nice bit of my home-made shortbread in return?’

Sean, who liked shortbread more than he probably should, accepted eagerly. Julia followed suit.

‘I’m Glenda, by the way. I live over in Hayfield. Those are my two boys, the ruffians with the ball. They’ve been coming to this meadow since they were tiny tykes.’

‘Julia and Sean,’ Julia offered in return.

‘Ah, yes, I thought I recognised the doctor,’ Glenda said. ‘Pleased to meet you both.’

One of the footballing boys – a slightly taller, even more freckle-speckled version of Tom – ran over to grab a piece of shortbread from the tin. Jake whined quietly and nudged the boy with his head.

‘I don’t think they need an extra player,’ Julia said, patting his broad, shiny brown back. ‘Especially one that never gives the ball back, and who is quite likely to puncture it fatally.’

The boy gave him a pat with the hand not holding the shortbread. ‘What’s his name?’

‘He’s Jake. And this is Leo.’

The boy patted Leo and stroked his silky ears. ‘Ah, he’s a sweet boy. I’m Tim. Can they come and play? It’s an old ball; it’s half flat anyway.’

‘If you’re sure you don’t mind…’ Julia unclipped Jake’s lead.

‘It’s cool. Come on then, dogs.’

He turned and ran, the two dogs galloping ecstatically after him.

‘Tim loves dogs,’ said Glenda.

‘Well, our dogs love boys and footballs. So it’s a match made in heaven,’ said Sean.

‘It’s sad to think that this is the last time we’ll have the spring picnic in this meadow,’ said Glenda. ‘It’s been a fine village tradition. We all look forward to it every year, especially the kids.’

‘It’s such a pretty spot for the picnic,’ said Julia. ‘For anything, really. The dogs and the dog walkers will miss it, that’s for sure.’

‘I’ve been bringing Leo here since he was a pup. And my boys used to come and kick a ball around this meadow when they were about the age of your boys,’ said Sean.

‘It’s a tragedy that it will be gone soon,’ said Julia, running her hand gently over the soft meadow grass, among which tiny wildflowers grew. ‘All these flowers, and the insects that live in them.’

In the years she had lived in Berrywick, she’d learnt their names, or some of them, at least: cowslips, orchids, harebells, sweet violets, ox-eye daisies, marsh marigolds. Pretty names for the pretty little flowers. And in weeks, they would be flattened by earth-moving equipment.

‘The whole meadow, dug up for more shops,’ she continued. ‘It’s not as if we need them. There’s already everything you could want in Berrywick. And for a bigger shop, you can always go to Hayfield.’

‘I can’t imagine how they got permission,’ said Sean. ‘I know it’s been dragging on for years, and then another application just up the road. Last I heard—’

They were interrupted by a loud clanging sound and the arrival of a young fellow dressed up in red and white striped trousers and a starched white apron.

He was bearing an old-fashioned cool box which hung in front of him from two broad straps that went over his shoulders.

In his hand, a brass bell. On his head of red curls, a starched white hat, like something a baker might wear in an old movie.

‘Would you like an ice cream?’ he asked, ceasing his ringing. ‘They are complimentary.’

‘I always enjoy an ice cream, and who doesn’t love a compliment?’ said Glenda with a grin.

‘I mean to say they’re free,’ said the stripy chap, flustered. ‘You don’t have to pay for them.’ He paused, his pale, anxious face at odds with his cheerful outfit, and added, ‘Although, if I might say, that’s a nice hat you’re wearing.’

Glenda cackled, her broad freckled face glowing under its crown of sunflowers.

‘I was just having you on, but thanks all the same. It is a nice hat, isn’t it?

Puts a smile on my face when I wear it. I had a matching scarf, but it disappeared clean out of my house.

I worry it was stolen. Still, at least I have the hat.

And I’ll have me one of your ice creams, since you’re offering. ’

The ice-cream man lowered the cool box to the ground so that they could all choose their preferred flavours. Glenda pulled out a tub of strawberry ice cream. Julia was dithering between chocolate and coconut when she noticed, stencilled in red across the front of the box, the words: Meadow Court.

‘Meadow Court. That’s the name of the new shopping development they’re building here, isn’t it?’ Julia asked. She remembered thinking it was ironic that the developers would destroy the meadow, and then name the centre after it.

The fellow cleared his throat, and answered, ‘It is. They’re giving out these ice creams to celebrate the start… um…’ – he stopped for breath and finished his sentence reluctantly – ‘the start, you know… of the construction… next week…’

By now, a few more people had joined them, drawn by the sight of the ice-cream box, and the clanging of the handbell. A large man in a vest, his pale shoulders already reddening from the sun, said crossly, ‘Well, breaking ground here is not something to celebrate, if you ask me.’

In spite of this view, he helped himself to a mint choc chip.

‘Free, did you say?’ asked a young woman, pointing at the ice creams in their box.

The man nodded. She leaned in to grab one, thanking him as she did so.

Unwrapping it, she said in a perfectly pleasant tone, ‘Well, if you want my opinion, it’s a lovely meadow, and it should be left just the way it is.

It’s a right shame it’s going to be dug up. ’

‘What about the voles?’ said an old woman, opening a chocolate ice cream. ‘And the moles. And even the foxes.’

‘It’s the bird life that upsets me,’ said Glenda, and she did look rather upset.

‘And the flowers!’ came another voice, breaking slightly with emotion. ‘Look at them all, such a beautiful display.’

Everyone looked across the soft green meadow, spotted with wildflowers. Julia imagined them squashed and trampled by equipment and boots, and felt quite bereft herself. She sneezed, but didn’t hold her hay fever against the flowers.

‘There was an environmental survey, from what they tell me,’ said the ice-cream man miserably. ‘They went through the proper channels.’

‘That’s what they claim,’ said the old woman sceptically, a small blob of ice cream quivering angrily on her chin. ‘But who’s to say, really?’

She looked at the blushing ice-cream man. He protested weakly, ‘I’m only a student. I’m at the uni studying philosophy. I do odd jobs like this on the weekends to make a bit of money…’

‘Oh, well, if it’s money we’re talking about,’ said the red-shouldered vest-wearing man through a mouthful of mint choc chip. ‘That’s the trouble with the world today, it’s all about money. No one cares about what’s right and wrong.’

‘And this meadow, it’s been here for decades, centuries more likely,’ said the old woman, waving her ice cream around for emphasis. ‘It looks the same as it did when I was a girl.’

‘And what about the dogs? They love it here. One of the dog walkers is getting a petition together. I think he even spoke to a lawyer about getting it stopped. I wonder what happened.’

Things were getting rather heated, and Julia felt some sympathy for the ice-cream man, who was not, after all, a heartless, rapacious property developer, but merely a philosophy-pondering student earning a few quid by giving out ice creams. So she was rather pleased when the arrival of the young footballers and the ecstatic dogs diverted everyone’s attention away from him.

‘Cool, ice creams,’ said Tom. Or was it Tim?

The ice-cream seller was delighted with the diversion, too. ‘Help yourself, boys,’ he said, tilting the box in their direction. The boys didn’t have to be asked twice.

‘Thanks for the ice cream,’ the sunburnt man said, in a conciliatory tone.

‘The mint choc chip was excellent, and you seem like a good chap. I know you’re not to blame for the field being destroyed.

But they’re not digging yet. There’s still hope someone will put a stop to this development, one way or another. ’