Murder In The Aisle (Merry Summerfield Cozy Mysteries Book 1)

by Kris Pearson

  Then, finally, on the lowest shelf of the airing cupboard, I spotted an old cardboard box. It was partly hidden by some re-hemmed towels but maybe whoever had searched the place earlier had pushed them over to that side of the shelf? (If the Police ever searched people’s airing cupboards? It seemed unlikely.)

  Oh come on, Isobel! One old school exercise book? A year per page? I thumbed through in disbelief. Handwriting so neat you’d almost call it copperplate. Every gas bill and electricity bill and phone account was neatly detailed there, month by month, for years. The quarterly payments to the district council, the purchase of the Mini and its occasional servicing. The yearly insurances on house and property.

  Then the handwriting changed to something a lot less tidy. A-ha! So old Mum or Dad had finally given Isobel the job of book-keeping? (Or she’d taken it over after they’d died.) A big spring-clip held a few invoices together but it was still a pretty sparse record, and that was everything the cardboard box contained. I wasn’t buying it. There had to be more. Graham kept enormous amounts of paper filed at home, even though he paid most things online. Not very trusting, my brother!

  Having checked everywhere likely for a desk, I thought about the garage. Might she have an old filing cabinet out there?

  I’d no sooner decided to have a look when there was a knock on the kitchen door and a man’s voice called out, “Merry, it’s me, Paul.”

  Chapter 5 – The calm before the storm

  The dogs immediately set up a huge yappy ruckus. Phew – lucky escape. A few minutes earlier and he’d have caught me nosily searching. I gave my hair a pat and smacked my cheeks a couple of times to give them some roses as I headed toward his voice. No time for lipstick.

  He was looking a lot more vicarish today in dark slacks and a black shirt with a white dog collar at the neck. His sleeves were rolled back though, and his dark wavy hair was ruffled by the wind. He was, in a word or three, one hot vicar.

  “Paul,” I said, pulling the door open further.

  “I hope I didn’t give you a shock. I thought I’d better yell out to let you know it was only me.”

  “I’m amazed the dogs didn’t hear you earlier.” I led him into the kitchen through a sea of bouncy white barkers. “They should be tuckered out. I took them home and let them run around with Graham’s spaniels most of the afternoon.”

  He bent and patted them both before settling himself in the chair I indicated.

  “I parked out on the road,” he said. “They probably didn’t hear the car over the breakers. There’s a big sea running again. It’s clouding over, too.”

  Immediately I imagined John welded to his surfboard, hair flying, rushing down the terrifying edge of a huge wave. My heart did a bit of a lurch and my thighs might have trembled. Okay, definitely trembled. One hot vicar, one cool surfer. My cup runneth over.

  “Are you okay with the cottage being so isolated?” Paul asked, hauling me back to reality. “I’ve been thinking it was probably a stupid thing to suggest. You living here with no-one else around. Woman on her own…” He looked embarrassed – and possibly a bit pink under his tan.

  I thought again what a nice man he was. Quite a contrast to John who’d simply swaggered up out of the sea, barely clothed, and proceeded to be pretty direct until he spotted the fingerprint powder.

  I smiled. “Isobel was a woman on her own. She was safe here, wasn’t she?”

  He sent me half a grin in return, and a nod. “She was less of a temptation, perhaps?”

  “Paul, are you flirting?” I exclaimed.

  He shook his head, but the grin didn’t fade.

  “No,” I assured him. “I’m not worried about living here, but it’s always good to know someone has your safety in mind.” I took the chair opposite. “How long had Isobel been here on her own? I’ve decided she probably looked after her parents for ages. And was a bit stuck as a result. There’s not much money in evidence.” Keen to keep him talking, I added, “Tea or coffee?”

  Paul settled back. “Well, tea if you’re boiling up. I don’t want to steal your time. It’s just a quick visit.”

  I stood and turned the tap on to fill the kettle. “It’s okay – I worked a lot of the afternoon and got heaps done. Company’s good. Did I guess right about her parents? Her sister looked so smart by comparison.” I held up fingers as I said; “Less careworn. Much better dressed. And was going cruising. Quite a contrast.”

  I set yesterday’s brown mug and floral teacup on the table and opened the pantry to search for teabags. Then I attempted the gas stove. “I don’t suppose they’ve any idea yet who killed her, or why?”

  Paul shook his head. “Not that I’ve heard. She’ll be a loss to the church. She looked an unlikely Napoleon but she ruled the old-fashioned team of flower arranging ladies with a rod of iron. At all three churches. Here in Drizzle Bay, along in Burkeville, and out at Totara Flat.”

  That had me wrinkling my brow. “You have three churches?”

  “They’re hardly cathedrals, Merry. We spread the services around to suit each area. Only one a fortnight at Totara Flat, and we’re lucky to get a dozen people, but the congregation enjoys knowing it’s ‘their’ place of worship and ‘their’ graveyard. There’s a Sunday school as well in Burkeville, and sometimes we have weddings or funerals to cope with in each. Isobel bossed her team around with surprising competence. We always had fresh flowers when and where we needed them.”

  “Good on her. So much nicer than the artificial ones. We all need projects to occupy us. I’d seen her pottering around the shops but never actually spoken to her.”

  And I’d certainly never seen her up close and as personal as she was when sprawled, dead and bleeding, on the church carpet. My strange brain went sideways and wondered if the stain had come out. Or maybe it had to be a left a while longer as evidence? Euw, no – surely not!

  “She kept herself busy,” Paul agreed. “Come tax time she was in demand for checking some of the local businesses’ accounts and preparing their returns.”

  I raised an eyebrow, thinking of Lurline’s suggestions. So maybe she’d been right after all? I hadn’t expected that. Isobel had never struck me as anything but a sweet old spinster toddling by in the village. I wondered what she did with the extra money she made. She didn’t spend it on clothes – that was for sure.

  The kettle boiled and I poured the water over the teabags. “Weak or strong? Milk and sugar?”

  Once our drinks were to our liking we sat either side of the table, sipping and gossiping. His arms were a bare two feet away as he leaned toward me, listening as I asked questions that were probably none of my business. Lovely strong arms. The tendons on the back of his hand tightened each time he lifted the mug. Then he set it down on the table and linked his fingers together, planting his chin on them as his lively dark eyes watched me. Big hands. Long fingers. I’d admired them a couple of days ago, too.

  Maybe he plays the piano? Or the organ?

  He’s a vicar, Merry!

  So?

  “You’re right about the parents,” he said. “Her mother died around six months ago. Just on ninety. And her dad followed only weeks later. Don’t ever tell me broken hearts don’t exist.” He looked down at his mug for a while and seemed to be having some sort of inner battle. His mouth twitched at the corners and he closed his eyes a couple of times as though he was seeing far-away things.

  “I’m sure they do,” I agreed. “But I’ve never had one. I married a man who valued me about as much as he did every other woman he took to bed. There was more relief than heartbreak when Duncan Skene and I finally parted. Should have done it years earlier.”

  “Merry,” Paul said with infinite tenderness, raising his gaze to mine again. “Pearls before swine. Jesus’ words from The Sermon on the Mount. Did you get trampled, as Our Lord indicated the pearls would be if they were cast down in front of pigs?”

  I swallowed, and shook my head. “I finally found the courage to trample him back. Hired a
good lawyer and took him for half his worldly goods. He hated that. And he hated it even more when my parents died a few months later and Graham and I inherited their house. He missed out on a share of it.”

  Paul let out a brief chuckle. “Did your brother act for you?”

  I know my eyebrows must have shot halfway up my forehead at his rather personal question. “No – a friend he recommended. It seemed a good idea to keep things further from home.”

  He unclasped his fingers and picked up his mug again. “Yes, families can sometimes be less than helpful. Not that I’m casting any aspersions on your brother.” He took a sip of tea. “Margaret was certainly not much help to Isobel.”

  That made me wonder about his family, of course. Hadn’t they wanted him to go into the Church? Or the Army? Or didn’t you have to be in both to end up places like Afghanistan? I decided to enquire later instead of spoiling the easy conversation between us right now.

  “What are you planning to do for dinner?” I asked. “There are plenty of eggs. And I saw pretty good-looking lettuces and herbs in the vegie garden. Omelet and salad? Quiche and salad? I have to eat, so you may as well too. Unless you’ve made other arrangements of course?”

  It wasn’t a very gracious invitation but I swear his big brown eyes lit up as though someone had thrown a switch. Maybe the way to a man’s heart really is through his stomach, although that had never worked with my unlamented ex-husband.

  “I won’t outstay my welcome,” Paul assured me. “Things to do later, but I haven’t had a decent omelet in ages. Shall I go out and cut a lettuce?”

  I was pleased he’d chosen omelets because quiche would have been a fiddle. “Yes, if you don’t mind.” I rattled around in the knife drawer and handed him a sharp wooden-handled number, then peered into the fridge and pantry, wondering what I could use for filling. “There’s cheese,” I said. “Tinned mushrooms? Baked beans?”

  He rose from his chair. “Merry, anything will be a treat for a man who lives primarily on frozen dinners. I haven’t had mushrooms for a while?” That sounded like a definite suggestion to me, even couched as a careful question, so I pulled out the can of mushrooms.

  “But you get enough baked beans?”

  He shrugged. “They make an easy lunch.”

  Yes, they do. I eat my share when I’m working on manuscripts at home in my study.

  While he was outside I started warming the mushrooms in the microwave oven, set a small heavy frying pan on the stove to heat, and got the gas going again. By the time he came back I’d beaten the eggs in two small bowls (three for him, two in the other for me), added salt and pepper and a dash of milk to each, and was about to slice some tomatoes into wedges for the salad.

  Rather to my surprise Paul put the lettuce into the sink and proceeded to strip off the outer leaves and tear up the middle, so I grabbed a couple of dinner plates and some cutlery.

  “You’re domesticated after all,” I said.

  “Not a total loss in that department.” His lips quirked but his attention didn’t leave the lettuce.

  Hmmm. Secretive. I took a chance and asked, “Presumably you’re not married if you’re here eating with me?”

  “No, Merry. I’m not fit husband material right now.” He said it in a flat voice which gave little away, but it had a definite tone of ‘back off’.

  Okay… I can take a hint.

  “The dogs and I spent the morning at the Burkeville café,” I said, wondering if I’d get a reaction to that.

  Well, yes, I did, but not one that got me any further. “They run a good business there. Great pizzas. You saw their wood-fired oven?” He pushed the outer lettuce leaves to one end of the sink.

  I shook my head. “Sounds good for next time though. John was on the beach here yesterday.”

  That certainly pushed his buttons. “Here?” he demanded. “Right along here at The Point?”

  “Surfing,” I said, sliding the wedges of tomato from the chopping board into a glass bowl I’d found. “No wetsuit. He must be impervious to the cold. He came up through the garden. Scared me witless for a moment.”

  “Are you okay?”

  Hmmm, fast reply, full of concern. Good.

  “Yes, of course I am. He made me a cup of tea.”

  “You let him into the house when you were alone?”

  Excellent reaction! Brows drawn together, vertical wrinkle between them, a fierce sniff and a backward tilt of his head. Absolutely seething, although I wasn’t sure why I was enjoying winding him up so much.

  “I let you in, didn’t I?” Let him think on that. But after a couple of seconds I took pity on him and added, “I think finding Isobel had just properly sunk in. I was shaky. May have even gone weepy on him, and he went into macho protective mode when he saw the fingerprint powder on the door. Did you find the parsley?”

  Paul closed his eyes for a couple of seconds. I could easily imagine he was mad at himself for forgetting it because he turned away without speaking and returned with a handful of parsley plus some spears of chives and a stem of new mint. I don’t usually put mint in salads. “Do you like this?” I asked, crushing it to release the scent and waving it under his nose.

  He sniffed and recoiled. “Maybe with roast lamb. I just grabbed whatever I could see that looked herby. It’s definitely getting darker out there.”

  “Probably be a spectacular sunset, then,” I said, tossing the mint aside. “I love it when the clouds get lit up by the low sun and change color.” I pushed the chopping board across to him. “Shred the herbs up and throw them in with the lettuce and tomatoes. And give it a shake of this.” I’d found a bottle of vinaigrette dressing in the fridge while I was fossicking.

  Turning my attention to the pan, I dropped a knob of butter-substitute onto the hot surface. It sizzled fiercely and melted very fast so I tipped the bowl of three seasoned eggs in and began to draw the cooked portions aside, tilting the pan this way and that so the raw remainder ran underneath. “Sit,” I said, and Paul did.

  In another thirty seconds I ladled a portion of warmed mushrooms onto it and curled it onto his plate. Very professional, even if I do say so myself. The surface that had been underneath was now on top, gleaming golden and looking like a crumpled quilt.

  Another sizzle as the other bowl of eggs hit the pan.

  “Start without me,” I said, but he didn’t. From the corner of my eye I saw him bow his head and whisper what I assumed was grace. Sixty seconds later I set my own omelet on the table and then Paul picked up his fork. “Very slick,” he said. “You’ve done that before.” He took a mouthful and groaned his appreciation. Yes, it was good. We sat happily scoffing, ignoring the dogs who thought they deserved some too.

  Once we’d made a good start I asked him if Bruce Carver had called on him. “He was here bright and early this morning,” I added.

  Paul’s good humor disappeared in an instant. “What a slippery weasel. I felt guilty. Me, who checked if she was okay and would have revived her if it had been possible. He as good as accused me of being a criminal.”

  “I didn’t like him either,” I agreed. “But it must be a horrible job. Having to be suspicious of everyone he comes across in his working day – apart from other policemen of course.”

  He quirked an eyebrow. “You’re too generous, Merry.”

  “Detective Wick was nicer. Nicer in manner, I mean.”

  Paul forked up some more omelet. “I doubt I told them anything they hadn’t already heard from the uniformed constables or the paramedics.”

  “Or Margaret, or me. Did anyone find the murder weapon?”

  “In the church?” His eyes widened. “Not as far as I know. They took away the shards of the broken vase in case it was that. It wouldn’t have been a gun or a knife. Unless it was very large and they’d used it as a club.”

  “Euw,” I said. “Best not to think about it. And why wouldn’t they just shoot her or stab her, if so?”

  “Best not to think about that, eit
her,” Paul replied, turning away and avoiding my gaze while he concentrated very hard on getting some salad to stay on his fork.

  There was a sudden patter of rain on the window glass. “You should have parked closer,” I said.

  He shook his head. “Won’t hurt me to run for it. It’s not far. And it mightn’t last long. These sudden little showers often just buzz off out to sea.”

  I stood and switched on the light. It was getting darker by the second. I gasped as I peered out the window. “Lightning. We’re in for a –”

  My comment was drowned by an enormous boom of thunder that shook the whole house. Dramatic enough that I couldn’t believe it would stay on its foundations. I hate thunder and was glad I had company, but Paul gave an inhuman howl, dropped his knife and fork so they crashed onto the table, and then the floor, and wrapped his arms around his head.

  I was astounded a big man like him would react like that. All I could do was stare, open-mouthed, as the thunder rolled on and on, making the house tremble and rumble. He stayed frozen, eyes tightly closed from what I could see through his fingers.

  After several seconds I staggered to my feet, accidentally kicked one of the teddies who’d bolted out of the dog bed at the noise, and managed to get an arm around Paul’s shoulders. The poor man was shaking and shuddering, and both dogs were howling hideously.

  It’s not often I’m the most cool-headed presence in the room but this time I won hands-down. Paul tried to shake me off but I wasn’t budging. He was silent and panting now. I really think he would have dived under the table with the dogs if there’d been room.

  His reaction to Isobel’s body and the possibility of an intruder in the church rushed back to me. Afghanistan. Gunfire and death. Hideous wounds and blood.

  All too slowly the thunder died away, gradually losing volume as it rolled out over the sea. Then the rain started pelting in earnest, splashing through the open window and bouncing up off the counter. I slid my arm away from his shoulders and dragged on the catch to slam it closed, pleased with the excuse to turn aside because I knew Paul would hate me seeing him like this. The noise of the drumming rain receded as a result, and one of the teddies took the opportunity to scuttle out to the knife and fork and lick up some eggy remnants from the floor. It was enough to bring a little relief.