by Blythe Baker
Nathanial seemed nervous, and Irene’s gaze softened. “Very well,” she said. “Go on, then.”
I dialed the number and waited.
Irene leaned in to the receiver, clearly hoping to overhear whoever it was that answered.
“Hello?” It was certainly a man’s voice on the other end.
“Yes, hello,” I said. “Is this Henry Price?” I asked.
“It is,” the man said. “Who might be asking?”
“My name is Penelope Driscoll, and I was wondering if Valerie Price was available to speak with?” I asked.
“Valerie?” Henry asked. “Why do you need to speak with her?”
“I’m with the police, Mr. Price, and we are investigating Inspector Graves’ death,” I said. “I was wondering if she might be around to answer some questions.”
“Again?” Henry asked, annoyance tinging his words. “As I told the police before, she is not here. Hasn’t been for some time.”
“What do you mean?” I asked. “Where is she?”
“In Wales, as I told the Sergeant,” Henry said. “She and her husband moved there almost two years ago. She hasn’t been back to Brookminster since Christmas.”
“I see,” I said. Well, Sergeant Newton was right…they certainly do seem to have this under control, having beaten me to this lead already. “Do you know if she had any contact with the Inspector before his death?”
“No,” Henry said. “Though she did call me yesterday to send her regards to his family after hearing about his death.”
I nodded, looking at Irene, who looked rather displeased.
“Well, thank you very much for your time, Mr. Price,” I said. “I apologize for disturbing you again.”
“Yes, well, see that the information I’ve given is passed along to those who need it so this doesn’t happen again,” he said, and then hung up the phone.
I looked at the receiver. “He could have at least said goodbye,” I said, setting it back on the hook.
“Well, that lead dried up quickly…” Irene said. “I had no idea she’d been married.”
Nathanial said, “If she’s been in Wales for the last two years, and married, then I think it’s safe to say we can take her off the suspect list, right?”
“I believe so, yes,” I said, frowning. “Well, that’s discouraging. Not that she wasn’t the killer, mind you,” I added quickly. “I suppose we are back to where we were before, aren’t we?”
“Indeed,” Irene said.
“There is no one left in his life to investigate?” Nathanial asked. “Surely there must be someone…”
I pursed my lips together, thinking. “Well, I suppose there is always his parents,” I said. “Though that would be difficult to investigate.”
“What about his brother?” Irene asked.
I looked over at her. “Walter?” I asked.
Surprised I hadn’t considered Walter before, I chewed the inside of my lip. He certainly seemed the type, didn’t he? And it wouldn’t be the first time that I suspected him of murder…
“A drunkard, isn’t he?” Nathanial asked.
“Yes,” I said. “And has quite the temper, too, if I remember correctly. Even Sam admitted it.”
“But didn’t Sam love his brother?” Irene asked. “That doesn’t seem like the type of relationship to turn sour.”
“Unless Sam attempted to stop him during one of his rages,” I said. “And Walter didn’t even realize what or who he was attacking…”
“That’s a troubling possibility,” Nathanial said.
“So what are you going to do?” Irene asked me.
“I don’t know…” I said. “Though I must admit, I am not all that keen on investigating a man who has a reputation in town for having a temper and being a drunkard…”
“Then you shouldn’t investigate alone,” Nathanial said. “Especially if he was the one to kill Sam. He could easily do the same to you, couldn’t he?”
“I thought he had done that to my aunt,” I said. “I’m afraid I might be a little biased going into this whole thing.”
“Then you should tread carefully,” Irene said. “Lest you find yourself in a situation that you’ll end up regretting.”
7
It became quite clear to me soon after that the best way to speak to Sam’s brother Walter would be in a public place. And unfortunately for me, the place where that was going to be the most likely was at Sam’s funeral a few days later.
It was much harder for me to wake up the morning of the funeral than I thought it might be. I had known for four whole days that Sam was gone. I had walked the alley where he had been killed. Everyone in town knew about it, and was talking about it.
It was much different, however, to be standing in my room, staring at my reflection in the mirror, wearing the same black dress I’d worn to Roger’s funeral.
I have seen this reflection of myself far too often…I realized. How many times does this make? How many funerals have I attended? How many will I have to attend in the future?
I hoped this was the last, as I spun around and looked at myself from all angles in the mirror.
When was the last time I went to a wedding? Or a birthday celebration? Or witnessed the excitement from new parents at the birth of a child? Those are life’s joyful moments. Why have I not been able to experience more of them?
I frowned, grabbing my sweater to combat the cooler day, and made my way downstairs.
Irene seemed to understand as I lamented my own self pity on my way to the funeral with her, Nathanial, and Michael.
“It’s a season, dear,” she said. “We all experience them. Seasons of happiness, and seasons of hardship. I imagine there are many like us who feel as if there is nothing but sad or difficult things happening during this time, especially given the war happening around us. Every day people are receiving heartbreaking news. I’m certain there are good things happening still, but for now, they are quieter, and overshadowed by the more difficult moments in our lives.”
“I suppose you’re right,” I said as we walked. “I’m ready for a change, though.”
“We all are, dear,” Irene said, taking Nathanial’s hand in her own.
In that moment, I wished for Roger’s hand to hold the same way.
We weren’t the only ones making our way to the church for the funeral. Strolling along the street were most of the townsfolk; I saw Mr. and Mrs. Henrietta, walking arm in arm, Mrs. Henrietta wearing a black hat with a fishnet veil hiding part of her face, white roses pinned to the pill cap. I noticed Mrs. Georgianna, a handkerchief clasped tightly in her hand as she dabbed gently at the side of her face, walking toward the church beside Mr. and Mrs. Trent. Mr. Trent’s face was somber, and he stared ahead, his eyes fixed on the steeple.
I saw the Diggory’s, as well as the Hodgin’s, and I even noticed their children tagging along.
I saw people I hadn’t seen in weeks, all making their way toward the church.
Oh, Sam…I thought. All of these people…they’re coming to pay their respects to you. I hope you knew how much you were admired while you were here. This just proves it.
We entered the church after the Diggory’s, who acknowledged us with quick, quiet greetings.
The chandeliers overhead glowed brightly, and the pews were polished and filling quickly. Voices spoke in hushed tones, and the organ at the front of the room echoed across the sanctuary as it played its mournful tune.
I frowned as my eyes drifted up toward the altar. Mr. James, who would have been the one giving the funeral service, was now gone as well, having died in August, killed by a man seeking to keep his secrets.
“Oh, isn’t that Mr. James’ son?” Irene asked in a whisper, pointing up toward the front of the sanctuary.
Nathanial and I followed her pointing finger.
A young man stood off to the side of the pulpit, wearing long, black robes with a white sash around his neck. He spoke in low voices to an elderly man, nodding his head, a
look of concern on his handsome face.
“He certainly looks like Mr. James,” I said.
“That’s his son, all right,” Nathanial said. “I heard he might be leaving seminary to take over his father’s place. It seems that he has done just that.”
I looked up at the young man, who did look so much like his father. “He’s so young, though…”
“Indeed,” said Nathanial. “But he’s a good lad. Has a good head on his shoulders.”
“Always has,” Irene said. “I think he will do just fine here.”
We made our way down the center aisle. I noticed more familiar faces as we went, some of whom turned and smiled at me.
We took our seats in the fourth pew from the front, settling in beside the Diggory’s.
“It’s such a shame, isn’t it?” Mr. Diggory said as we sat. “Whoever would have thought that Sam Graves could have been killed? And so young?”
“I know,” Nathanial said to him, adjusting his tie. “It’s certainly not something I ever could have anticipated.”
“And the fact they haven’t figured out who killed him yet?” Mr. Diggory said, his eyes widening.
“Not now, dear,” Mrs. Diggory said sternly, laying her hand on her husband’s knee. “Not in front of the children.
Both of their sons were peering around their mother, waiting to hear what their father said next.
“To our knowledge they haven’t found whoever it was,” Nathanial said. “But for all we know, they’ve already quietly apprehended the criminal and we are all well on our way to safer days once again.”
“I certainly hope you’re right,” Mrs. Diggory said. “I can’t stand the thought that another criminal is running around on these streets…”
Just then, Mr. James’ son stepped up to the pulpit, clearing his throat as he did. The organist finished the line she was playing before sitting back, eyeing him in a respectful manner.
“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen,” he said. His voice, clear and strong, echoed across the sanctuary, silencing the last few people who were still speaking. “Thank you for gathering today, as we are here to celebrate the life and service of Samuel William Graves.”
William…that’s a strong middle name. Yet another thing about Sam I didn’t know.
“My name is Timothy James. As some of you know, I have taken my father’s place here at the church, but I must admit that this is the first funeral I have ever been responsible for. It breaks my heart that Samuel Graves is the man who I have to honor in this way first, yet at the same time, there are few men that are as respected as he was.”
A sniffle sounded somewhere near the front pew, and my eyes fell upon an older woman with grey in her dark hair. The man beside her, the older man that had been previously speaking with the vicar, wrapped his arm around her shoulder, holding her tightly against his side.
I leaned over to Irene and whispered to her, “Is that Sam’s mother?” I asked.
Irene nodded to me, her eyes creased with sadness as she watched the poor, older woman cry into a handkerchief.
Young Mr. James continued, “This is truly a sad day for Brookminster, though the Word tells us not to despair when someone passes on from this world. Samuel Graves was a man of faith, who demonstrated the depth of his belief on more than one occasion. My father once said that Sam was like a stream as deep as it was wide, and that nothing could disturb him.”
I dipped my head, my own eyes beginning to sting.
Steady he most certainly was…I thought to myself, my hands knit together in my lap. Nothing did shake him, did it?
More sniffles were heard around the room. As I turned to look, I noticed Mrs. Georgianna dabbing at her eyes once again. Mrs. Trent was blowing her nose into her handkerchief. Mr. Hodgins looked rather stoic, but his bottom lip was stiff and his jaw clenched.
Sam…you truly left a mark on the hearts of those here in the community…I thought. These people here are people you impacted, people you helped. They may never have thanked you the way they should have, but they were appreciative. I hope you knew that.
It saddened me to think that some of these people had never showed Sam how grateful they were for his service to the community, for his desire to help keep everyone safe. I could see it in their faces now, as clear as day, but had Sam known?
The tears sprang to my eyes, and I couldn’t contain them any longer.
I cried, missing the next few minutes of the vicar’s message, as he read from different verses about having hope in our eternity, and understanding that our lives were meant for something far greater than ourselves.
I felt a nudge in my arm, and looked up to see Irene looking pointedly at a man a few rows ahead of us.
He looked remarkably like Sam, but perhaps a head shorter. The same dark hair, the same broad shoulders. I could not see his face, but I knew that as soon as he turned around, I would certainly recognize him as Sam’s brother, Walter.
He wasn’t moving, his shoulders entirely still as he stared up at the vicar. It was almost as if he were made of stone.
Sitting there, dressed in a smart suit, he certainly didn’t strike me as the town drunkard that everyone said he was. Looks could be deceiving, though. Sam had taught me that.
I remembered Sam saying his brother might very well have been a lout, but that didn’t mean he was a murderer.
Was it possible he was the one to take your life, Sam? I wondered. If he was…then he is doing an awfully good job at playing the part of the grieving brother, showing up to the funeral.
But wouldn’t that be ideal for the murderer to do? To show up to the funeral?
I glanced over my shoulder at all of the people in the room. My eyes fell on many; the owner of the book store that had been in love with one of the more recent victims, Mr. Hodgin’s new assistant at the butcher shop, and even the cook from the inn, who always seemed to have a smile on his face. Not today, though.
Everyone in town was here.
That had to mean that someone here had killed Sam. Perhaps it would have looked strange if someone hadn’t come, and would have certainly made people question their motives.
Was it you, Walter? Were my initial fears about you not entirely unfounded?
I had no idea…but I had to get to the bottom of it.
For Sam’s sake.
8
The service ended a short time later, and the guests were led outside to the churchyard where Sam was to be buried.
I watched with a knot in my chest as the pallbearers walked the casket out into the cemetery. It was hard to believe that Sam was lying in that coffin, soon to be buried beneath the earth, never to be seen this side of heaven again.
Death seemed so final. So fast. I felt as if I had hardly gotten to know him, and he was taken from us.
His parents must have felt it far more acutely than I ever could have. As would any other members of his family. Their loss must have been closer to when I lost Roger.
I noticed Mrs. Graves huddled near her husband, watching the casket move through the cemetery, her eyes red and puffy, her face blotchy. She clutched a handkerchief to her chest, her lips pinched together as she cried without a sound.
Mr. Graves didn’t look much better. His face, pale and drained of all color, was flat and expressionless…much like his son’s would have been during something like this. It was unsettling seeing just how much Sam’s father looked like him…or vice versa, perhaps.
I passed by an ash tree as we moved further through the churchyard…and my heart skipped a beat.
I remembered Sam standing there, watching me as I attended the funeral for the Polish beggar, where I had been the only one to show up. The stern look on Sam’s face would be hard to forget, and the disdain radiating from him in the dim afternoon light had sent chills down my spine. He had warned me not to get involved in the investigation of the man’s death. He had intimidated me, then, but it wasn’t long after that he started to reluctantly trust me.
; It was hard to believe he could so recently have been standing there in front of that tree. And now…he was gone.
As we walked, no sound from any of the guests apart from their shuffling footsteps, I looked around.
My eyes fell on the gate where Sam had retrieved me after Mr. James’s death. The night that my reputation was very nearly ruined. The night I thought I’d lost Sam’s trust, perhaps forever. I could remember his face clearly. The way he’d stared at me from just inside the gate, like I was suddenly a stranger to him. Even still, he’d known I hadn’t been the one to commit the murder, but I’d gotten myself mixed up in everything once again. The vicar’s blood had been on my hands, streaked across my clothing in my attempts to save him.
My thoughts returned to the present.
There was barely any room to walk as we made our way toward the open grave, which waited eagerly to be filled so that the earth could return to its eternal slumber.
I didn’t mind standing back with the Driscoll’s, away from the service taking place directly beside the grave. That was definitely meant for his family, and those closest to him. Even though we had been friends, and he had expressed interest, I still didn’t feel right standing anywhere near those who had known him for far longer.
I couldn’t see the grave from where I stood, nor Sam’s casket. It was still hard to wrap my mind around the fact that he was, in fact, lying inside. It just didn’t seem possible. Perhaps I was nothing more than a coward, standing back as far as I was, not wanting to lay eyes on what I already knew to be happening up beside the grave.
When Roger had died, as his wife, I’d been forced to stand directly beside the gaping maw that was the hole meant for his body. All I’d wanted to do, however, was to be as far away as I possibly could be. I wanted to run, to flee, from the reality that was my life.
Here, I had the safety and comfort of distance. Protecting myself from yet another ache and another memory that could haunt my dreams. Sometimes, it was better to be selfish in order to ensure that I could hold onto my sanity.
I was glad that Irene didn’t urge me forward. Instead, she kept looking over at me, a sad, motherly sort of smile on her face, tears glistening in her eyes. She helped remind me that I was not alone in this moment. Happy for her and Nathanial’s company, I waited until we heard the vicar’s last few words, difficult to hear as far back as we were, fade into the distance.
