by Blythe Baker
I chanced a look over my shoulder, and found my pursuer had tripped over some of the rubbish in his front garden.
This is my chance, I thought, and disappeared into the shadows between the street lamps.
“You won’t get away from me!” he shouted across the yard, though his voice was strained as he struggled back to his feet. “I – I will catch you!”
Something told me he definitely would if he could untangle himself from whatever it was he’d tripped over. Why had I underestimated him like I had?
I hurried through the gates outside the church, hoping I would be able to make it inside without much trouble. It would be a good place to wait for him to pass.
I tried the door, and was surprised to find it unlocked.
I slipped inside, breathing a sigh of relief.
Perhaps I would be safe. For now.
14
I looked around the church, finding the light that had been switched on coming from Mr. James’ old study. Why was that on? Had someone forgotten to turn it off earlier?
As I made my way over to it, I peered inside the small room, and my heart sank.
Boxes were strewn all over the floor, some of which were packed with books or clutter from the desk and shelves. Others were empty, waiting to be filled.
The desk seemed so lonely, with nothing more than a few stray pens on its surface, along with a few copies of the church bulletin…the date on which was the Sunday before Mr. James was killed.
The creak of a door behind me made me turn around, and I found myself staring down Mr. Grey…who carried his rifle, and was pointing it at me.
My stomach dropped to the floor. Why did I keep finding myself in these situations?
“There, now…” he said, kicking the door shut with his foot. The finality of the bang as it slammed shut sent shivers down my spine.
He’d lost the flashlight in our mad dash, so it was easier to see him now. He’d donned his old military jacket, and he clutched his cane, which he was leaning heavily upon.
“You can drop the act,” I said, glaring across the space at him. “If you could run after me, you clearly don’t need that cane.”
“Just because I can chase after you doesn’t mean that my old war injuries don’t act up,” he said. “Now…give me back the knife, and we can both go home and pretend like this whole thing never happened.”
“How can I?” I asked. “Not when this clearly proves that you were the one to kill Mr. James.”
The old man sighed. “How can you think that?” he asked. “I heard the poor sod was stabbed, but that doesn’t mean it was my knife that did it.”
“It does when it matches the description in the autopsy report,” I said. “And I intend to turn this over to the police for inspection.”
There was a flash of danger in Mr. Grey’s eyes.
“What is it?” I asked. “If you didn’t kill him, then what’s the harm in them looking the blade over? Wouldn’t it be better to clear your name? Because as I see it right now, you are the only one capable of killing him.”
He shook his head. “Young lady, if you understand the sort of life I’ve lived, you would realize that life and death are really rather subjective. I could be ordered to kill a man who I would never wish to under ordinary circumstances, and then forbidden from raising a hand against someone who deserved it. That’s why the battlefield confuses so many when they return home. They have a hard time making the lines clear again.”
I gripped the knife tighter. “Are you admitting to the murder? Saying that you think Mr. James deserved his death?”
He adjusted his hold on his rifle, which made me flinch and take a step back.
“Mr. James was a good man,” Mr. Grey said. “Really, what happened to him wasn’t his fault. His conscience was too strong. That made him dangerous, especially given what he did for a living…”
“What do you mean by that?” I asked.
“It was almost a year ago now. I ended up in a hospital, with some illness that nobody understood. Doctors were convinced I was going to die. So Mr. James came to visit me. He prayed with me and asked me about where I stood with the Lord…In those moments, I realized there were still things I had never admitted, never repented of…and so I shared those things with Mr. James.”
“What sort of things?” I asked.
Mr. Grey’s face screwed up with anger. “Not the sort of things I would ever tell you,” he said.
“Well, you clearly did not perish as you thought you might,” I said. “You’re still standing here, aren’t you?”
The old man nodded. “I am. But after recovering, I realized I never should have shared what I did with the vicar. As I said, the man had a strong conscience, and the things I told him could very well land me in prison if he told anyone else. He might have felt compelled to let the police in on what I’d done.”
“But you couldn’t let him do that, could you?” I asked, everything finally starting to make sense. “So you decided to take matters into your own hands so that your secrets would never be revealed?”
Mr. Grey looked down at the rifle in his hands, and I heard a distinct click as he readied it, pointing it back at me. “That’s precisely it,” he said. “You’re quite the clever one, aren’t you?”
I put my hands in the air, keeping his blade flat against my palm, showing him I still had it. There was no way I could reach him with it in time to defend myself…and if I did, that would make it impossible for the police to check and see if there were any traces of Mr. James’ blood on the blade.
“If you’d simply kept your nose out of all this, you never would have found yourself in this situation. Like I told you, the lines are blurred, and sometimes we need to make difficult choices in order to survive,” he said.
“You’re telling me that choosing to kill is still a difficult decision for you?” I asked.
He shrugged. “In a way. But it’s happened so often now that I’m fast growing numb to it.”
“Why not turn yourself in, then?” I asked. “Take steps toward setting things right.”
“That depends on your perspective, I suppose,” he said. “In my mind, sending myself to prison is far from right.”
He hoisted the rifle to his shoulder, leaning against the wall for support.
My heart raced. How many times was I going to have a gun pointed at me, my life being threatened?
I closed my eyes…and heard a deafening bang ring out in the church.
One heartbeat passed.
Then another.
I waited for the pain, waited for my knees to give way, waited to feel the blossoming of the hot, red blood across my chest as it finally registered what had happened.
But none of that ever came.
I opened my eyes and watched as Mr. Grey staggered, his rifle tumbling from his hands…and collapsed to the floor.
Clutching my hand over my racing heart, I looked all around.
My eyes fell on a young woman standing in the front row of pews, a small handgun clasped tightly in her grip, the end of the barrel smoking slightly.
My jaw fell as I realized who it was. “Rachel James?” I breathed.
The young woman didn’t move, her eyes fixed on the spot where Mr. Grey had been standing. I watched the rapid rise and fall of her chest. I could see the paleness in her cheeks, even in the dim light.
“I heard everything,” she said, her voice shaking. “I came here tonight to make peace with my father’s death…and I heard everything that wretched man said…”
I was at her side in a moment, my arms wrapped around her as she tossed the gun aside and collapsed into the pew, her wailing filling the vaulted ceilings high above us.
15
“I think I’m going to buy you a dog,” Inspector Graves said, looking down at me. “A big one, and I think I will have to insist that you take him everywhere with you. Because you always seem to find yourself in these terrible situations when you are alone.”
I p
ulled the blanket that had been tossed over my shoulders more tightly around myself, my eyes fixed upward on the stained glass window at the back of the church. “Yes, perhaps that wouldn’t be such a bad idea…”
Sam took a seat beside me in the pew.
I didn’t want to look behind me. The police had arrived, and were busy tending to the body. I heard the rustle of clothing, the scuff of boots, the murmur of men’s voices as they moved the late Mr. Grey’s corpse from the floor of the church.
Sam sighed, resting his hands on his knees. “Rachel James will be all right,” he said in a gentle tone. “I know it’s difficult to see someone as distraught as she was, but it will take time for her to heal. Taking someone’s life is…well, you certainly understand.”
That I did. Seeing the horror in her eyes made the memory of Sidney’s death come back fresh to my mind, and I was doing all I could to keep those thoughts at bay.
“I wish there was something more I could do for her,” I said. “She came here to make peace with what happened to her father, to pray about her heartache, and then…well, we showed up, and she overheard it all…”
“But if she hadn’t been here, then who knows what would have happened to you?” Sam asked.
“I know very well what would have happened,” I said. “He had no qualms about killing me. Didn’t even seem troubled by it, honestly. He said those lines were blurred for him when he was in the war.”
Sam’s face darkened. “I suppose I can understand how he reached that conclusion, as wrong as it is.”
I tried to swallow, but my throat was too dry. It felt as if my tongue was made of sandpaper.
“I’m going to have to ask you to consider staying with the Driscolls again for a few nights,” Sam said. “I’m worried about you being home alone, after everything that’s happened.”
“I suppose I could speak with them,” I said. “Though I hate to impose any further.”
Sam shook his head. “I’ve already spoken to them. Irene insisted.”
“At this rate, I may as well move in with them,” I said with a wry laugh.
“Inspector Graves?” I heard behind us.
Sam seemed reluctant to answer, but turned around. “What is it?”
“We need you to finish the report,” said one of the officers.
“Very well,” he said heavily, getting to his feet. “I’ll be back in a moment. Just rest, all right?”
I nodded, watching him walk away.
As I turned my face back toward the altar at the front of the room, I sighed heavily.
It was a few days later that I found myself wandering through the village, feeling free to do so once again. It was surprising how quickly all of my neighbors’ ill feeling toward me disappeared once the truth about Mr. James murder became public. I might have received a few strange looks from a person or two, but everyone seemed pleased that I was not the one responsible for the death.
The knife had been analyzed and confirmed as the weapon that had killed the vicar, due to small traces of his blood remaining on the blade.
Rachel James was exonerated and hailed as a hero, but she hadn’t been seen in public since that night at the church. I didn’t blame her in the least. Her life was going to be difficult for some time, and she was going to need time to learn how to live with the choices she’d made.
As I walked, I passed by the place where I had spotted Roger that one day.
I suddenly remembered the brooch I’d left there, wondering if he’d ever gone back to pick it up.
I wandered into the alleyway, and located the stone I’d written our initials on. It gave easily as I lifted it up off the rest of the others stacked on the wall.
The brooch was gone, to my surprise…and a small, white flower was lying in its place.
My heart skipped as I gently picked it up.
It was a lily…my favorite flower.
Hope swelled within me. There was no doubt in my mind now. It was Roger that was following after me.
I didn’t want to hope too much, though. I worried that if I were to open my heart to the possibility of our reconciling, those hopes would only be dashed.
I realized the best thing I could do was be patient, and see what happened between us next. For now, I could be content with these little gifts of affection between the two of us.
I closed my hand carefully over the crushed flower, and replaced the stone.
With a smile tugging at the corner of my mouth, I made my way from the alleyway, back out into the sunshine.
Life was full of difficulties, but what made it worth living were the little moments of happiness that came…some in the form of flowers and hints of affection.
I didn’t know where Roger was, or what might happen between us someday…but I did know that he was making a sacrifice for his country, and that his silence was likely intended to protect me.
For now, I could be content with that, and in knowing that despite having to keep the truth from me for so long, he still found a way to let me know he cared.
“Helen, are you ready?”
It was Irene, waving to me from down near the bakery. We were looking for something special for Nathanial’s birthday party that evening.
“I’m coming!” I called, and hurried out to greet her, allowing joy to fill my heart once again.
Continue following the mysterious adventures of Helen Lightholder in
“A Simple Country Deception.”
About the Author
Blythe Baker is the lead writer behind several popular historical and paranormal mystery series. When Blythe isn't buried under clues, suspects, and motives, she's acting as chauffeur to her children and head groomer to her household of beloved pets. She enjoys walking her dog, lounging in her backyard hammock, and fiddling with graphic design. She also likes binge-watching mystery shows on TV.
To learn more about Blythe, visit her website and sign up for her newsletter at www.blythebaker.com
