Grave in the Garage (A Reverend Annabelle Dixon Cozy Mystery Book 4)

by Golden,Alison

  As the leafless trees and curling roads began to zip by in their familiar pattern and Annabelle had settled back into the pleasing rhythm of changing gears as she rounded blind corners and revved away from junctions, her mind turned once more to the events of the past twenty-four hours. This time, boosted by being once again behind the wheel of her car, her thoughts seemed sharper. They were more focused, as if regaining control over her own car had given her back control over her own mind. She began to see a pattern.

  Both Ted and Aziz had disappeared at roughly the same time and remained missing. Ian Crawford, a man ill-suited to the slowness and provincial nature of village life, and a couple of criminals, known to the Inspector, had turned up in the village with little reason. The village’s men were out of the house more than usual and keeping money from their wives, a rumor that seemed at least a little more meaningful than the usual rattle-tattle that entertained the bored housewives of Upton St. Mary. Adding to this, her sighting of the car with blacked-out windows and the sheer outlandishness of Ted's absence from the pub on a Friday night, Annabelle became convinced that something was seriously afoot regarding the men of Upton St. Mary.

  As with anything concerning men in the village, there was one place she was sure to find something of an answer: the Dog and Duck.

  Annabelle parked her car along the cobbled street that hosted the inviting old-fashioned pub. She got out of her Mini and walked toward it but not before stopping to cast one last smile at her sorely missed but now reclaimed vehicle. Inside, the pub was already experiencing the heightened chatter and elbow-to-elbow business of the Sunday lunch crowd. Annabelle slid through the drinkers in a haze of greetings, seeing many of them for the second time that day, a glass of red wine in their hand. No doubt, she thought wryly, they were continuing their celebration of the Blood of Christ, the bar presumably substituting for the Communion table on this occasion.

  When Annabelle reached the bar, the short but unmissable, busty, blond-beehived bartender that she was hoping to see was already there.

  "Reverend!"

  "Hello Barbara," Annabelle said to the bubbly pub landlady.

  "It's always a lovely surprise to see you here," Barbara said in her high, musical voice. "Would you like something to eat?"

  Annabelle cast a quick glance at the pub's filled booths.

  "I doubt I could find a seat even if I did! No, thank you."

  "Something to drink? Orange juice?"

  "Thank you, but no. I just wanted to drop by and ask you something quickly."

  "Oh, of course, Reverend," Barbara said, leaning forward over the bar to hear better.

  "Actually, it's somewhat private."

  "Ah! Come on through to the back then," Barbara said, moving to the corner of the bar and lifting the hatch.

  Annabelle stepped through, then followed Barbara's platinum-blond hair into the back of the pub. There a small passage with stairs led up to Barbara's apartment above and another door lead into the storage room.

  "So what's the matter, Reverend?" Barbara asked, her long eyelashes fluttering with concern.

  "Well, it's probably nothing, and I'm sorry to take up your time when you're as busy as this but—"

  "Oh, forget it, Reverend," Barbara laughed, nodding at the crowded pub. "These men can wait for their drinks. They don’t know how to pace their drinking, most of them! You’re doing them a favor!"

  Annabelle chuckled ruefully.

  "Do you happen to know Ian Crawford?"

  "The mechanic down in Crenoweth? Of course. My sister lives there."

  "Was he in here last night, by any chance?"

  "Ian? No. In fact, the only time I can remember seeing him here was when we had that darts competition a few years ago. Oh! He kicked up a hell of a fuss about the entry fee when he lost! I've half a mind not to let him in again!"

  "Hmm," Annabelle said, contemplatively. "Have you noticed any new people visiting the pub? Men who rarely come here? Oh, I know I'm not being very clear about this but—"

  "Let me stop you there, Reverend. I know what this is about."

  "You do?"

  "Yes," Barbara said, putting her long, brightly-colored nail to her lips and frowning pensively. "It's about those rumors isn’t it? The men running off and not going home all night."

  "Yes! You know something about it?"

  Barbara nodded ominously. "I can't tell you much, Reverend. But I can tell you one thing for sure. They're not spending all that time in my pub. Don't be fooled by that lunch crowd out there. Come evening, this place will be virtually empty, and it has been like that every night this week."

  CHAPTER FIVE

  TRY AS HE might to remain as officious as possible and to act with as much professional distance as his role demanded, the Inspector could not stop smiling like a young boy in a sweet shop whenever he looked at his furry companion. After his meal with Annabelle, he had spent much of the night playing with the puppy in his rented room at Mrs. Raven’s and already felt that they had developed a rapport. By two in the morning, he had taught the dog to sit on her hind legs when he raised his palm. Pleasantly surprised at both the pup’s intelligence and his own mentoring capabilities, Nicholls realized he was already impossibly infatuated with the dog.

  “Damn that Vicar woman!” he muttered, smiling as he gave the mutt another playful scrub behind the ears. “She knew I’d never be able to give you back!”

  Having quickly and almost completely overcome his initial resistance to adopting a rescue, the Inspector settled into bed and allowed the puppy to make her own on top of the quilt down by his feet.

  Now, on this clear, cool Sunday morning, the Inspector was up brighter and earlier than the puppy. She looked at him curiously through groggy, lidded eyes as he readied himself for the day. Though Nicholls had been careful to make sure his work wasn’t impacted by his doggie diversions, he still felt that he had wasted far too much time already. It had been less than twenty-four hours since the discovery of Mildred’s body, but he normally would have expected at least some progress in that time. So far, he had only added more questions to the many that surrounded Mildred’s death, and it was time to find answers to them.

  After retrieving some giblets and bones for the pup from Mrs. Raven’s fridge and wrapping them in newspaper, he made his way to the village police station in the light of dawn. The dog followed eagerly on his heels, a noticeable bounce in her steps, especially as she smelled something fresh and raw coming from the bag he was carrying. Nicholls wondered for a moment as he walked along what Annabelle was doing at that very moment and surmised that she was probably preparing for her Sunday morning service. He had no difficulty imagining her standing up in the pulpit, charming a crowd of villagers with her smile, and discussing matters of the soul in her engaging yet humble manner.

  “I really should check the church out for myself, one of these days,” he mused as he pushed open the doors of the police station and held them for the pup to pass through. “Not today, though. Today I’ve got my own matters to attend to.”

  Nicholls greeted the night-shift officer, ignoring her inquisitive look when she noticed he had company. He made his way to the small side room he typically appropriated as his office when visiting the village. After carefully setting the dog’s food in the corner alongside a bowl of water, he watched for a few moments as the pup tucked eagerly into her meal. He then went to sit behind his desk to take his own breakfast: a cup of poisonously strong tea and all the reports the officers had made regarding the case so far.

  “It’s looking pretty empty,” he muttered, talking presumably to the dog who was the only other living, breathing creature in the room. “I’m not seeing any connections.”

  He still had Harper’s initial report on the murder weapon and time of death to guide him, but even her always-astute evaluations could not help him if he had nothing with which to connect them.

  “No apparent motive. No clues unknowingly left at the scene. Seems like premeditated
murder to me. Cold-blooded, don’t you think?” he said, raising his eyes to the puppy. She looked over from her doggie feast and held his gaze with the same intelligence and curiosity that she always seemed to regard him. Her ears lifted, and she cocked her head.

  Nicholls laughed and turned back to his papers. The key had to lie with Ted or Aziz. He still had some hope that Aziz would turn up, but Ted’s disappearance troubled him, especially after hearing Philippa’s assertion that he never usually missed his Friday night drinking sessions.

  Rather than focusing on all the possible avenues and reasons for Ted’s disappearance, however, the Inspector found himself recollecting his meal with Annabelle. He sat back in his chair, tea mug in hand and a slight smile on his face as he reminisced the previous evening, utterly distracted from the important matter that lay on his desk.

  “She’s really quite a remarkable woman, when you think about it,” he said as the puppy having finished her meal, padded toward him in a slow, satisfied manner, and curled up beside his chair. “To be a vicar in a village such as this and to still have such good street smarts. She’s really rather astute, you know, a fine set of instincts – if a little overzealous at times.” He paused for a moment, before starting to chat to the dog once more. “It’s rather interesting to talk to her, you know. I spend so much time dealing with the very worst aspects of people that I rarely think of their better qualities. The Vicar is pretty clever in bringing the good side out in those around her, wouldn’t you agree?” Nicholls looked down at the puppy beside him, who lazily raised an eyebrow in acknowledgement. “Yes, they don’t make them like the Reverend very often, that’s for sure,” he said with a sigh. “To be honest, the first time I met her, I thought that she was rather bumbli—”

  “Yes, Inspector?” came a light voice from the door. The Inspector jumped suddenly, noticing the friendly face of Constable McAllister in the doorframe. “Did you call for me?”

  “Oh yes,” the Inspector began, quickly sitting upright and guiltily sifting through his papers. “Yes, I did. Come in and sit down a moment, would you, McAllister?”

  Police Constable Jenny McAllister was a relatively new recruit to the Upton St. Mary police force. She was a young officer, sympathetic and bubbly, possessed of a deep respect for her superiors. Despite still learning the ropes, she had displayed an enormous talent for dealing with people. Confronted with her big, blue eyes and her genuine smile, others found themselves softening, opening up, and often forgetful of whatever bother had brought them into contact with a police officer in the first place.

  Jenny McAllister also had another skill that set her apart from her peers. She had an uncanny flair for organization. No one was faster, more thorough, and more meticulous in completing the paperwork that accompanied many of the duties of a police officer than Jenny. Soon, she had flipped the tables on her more senior colleagues, and her fellow constables found themselves deferring to her whenever confused about best practices, correct procedure, and the greatest efficiencies. As a new, and therefore lowly, police officer, she had been given plenty of night-shifts, a hectic and unpredictable duty in many places, but a predictably quiet one in Upton St. Mary, and she had taken them on with good grace and a cheerful smile.

  Jenny had soon made the management of the small police station her own. If something were to happen, nobody could co-ordinate a response better than Jenny. She had an almost telepathic ability to know where the other officers in Upton St. Mary were patrolling, and who would be most suited to respond at any particular moment. This, along with her impeccable trustworthiness, meant that she was frequently allowed to watch the police station on her own.

  She smiled as she took the seat opposite the Inspector’s desk and sat down cheerfully.

  “How can I help you, Inspector?” she said.

  “You grew up in Upton St. Mary, didn’t you?” he said, clutching some papers and pushing all thoughts of Annabelle and her wonderfulness aside.

  “I did indeed.”

  “Do you know Ted Lovesey at all?”

  McAllister shrugged her small shoulders. “I suppose. He spends most of his time at the pub.”

  “I know,” the Inspector grumbled. “Do you know if he has a car?”

  “Oh, no,” McAllister said, with certainty. “He drinks far too much for that. I suppose that’s sort of funny – a mechanic who barely drives.”

  “Hmm,” the Inspector said, nodding. “How does he get to work then?”

  McAllister put a finger to her lips and frowned as she searched the vast database that was her mind.

  “Well, I’ve seen Greg Bradley pick him up a few times, so perhaps Greg gives him a lift to work? The fire station isn’t too far from Mildred’s. Greg’s a firefighter, so he’s always on call, and he sleeps when he can. They’re an odd couple, but they live almost next to each other. Greg doesn’t drink at all. He doesn’t even eat meat.” McAllister stopped suddenly, blushing slightly. “Just a guess, sir. About the lifts, I mean. He might even walk. It’s not far. Nothing’s far in Upton St. Mary.”

  Nicholls raised an impressed eyebrow at the young woman across the desk. He dropped the papers on the table and sat back.

  “You’ve just achieved more in a couple of minutes than I have all morning. Keep that sort of thing up and you’ll be sitting where I am sooner than you think.”

  McAllister’s blush transformed into a beam of delight at the compliment.

  “Thank you, Inspector!”

  “Have we sent anyone to question this…Greg Bradley?”

  “No, we haven’t,” she said, turning formal again. “I can do that, but we’ve only got two other officers on duty right now. Constable Raven is guarding the crime scene at Mildred’s, and Constable Harris is investigating reports of an illegally parked mobile library on Crowley Street.”

  “Send Harris to question him when he’s done,” Inspector Nicholls said, rising from his chair. “I’ll go tell Raven to come back here. There’s not much else we’re going to get out of that garage.”

  Nicholls walked over to the coat rack and put on his trenchcoat. To the puppy’s great excitement, he picked up the dog leash and attached it to her collar. McAllister stood up with him and moved to the door, but not before the Inspector could utter one more compliment in her direction.

  “I meant what I said, McAllister. You’ve got a spark I’ve not seen in a while – not in a police officer, at least.”

  Still satisfied from her earlier meal, the small, brown puppy remained alert but calm as she sat on the front passenger seat of the Inspector’s car. She appeared to be quietly taking in everything going on around her. The Inspector mulled over what a suitable name might be for her as he drove through the morning light of an Upton St. Mary Sunday.

  Constable Raven spotted the Inspector’s car from his guard post in the garage office and ambled out to greet him.

  “Morning, Raven,” the Inspector said.

  “Morning, Inspector,” the Constable replied, before glancing bemusedly at his furry companion. “Is that your dog, sir?”

  “It might be,” Nicholls replied.

  Knowing that even this brief reply was more explanation than the Inspector usually gave in response to questions he regarded as personal, Constable Raven set aside his curiosity for the time being.

  Nicholls stepped under the crime scene tape and walked slowly toward the open garage bay, looking casually around as if he might stumble across something he had previously missed. Raven followed half a step behind.

  “So did you notice anything overnight, Raven?”

  “No, sir. Didn’t hear or see a thing. Not even a mouse squeak.”

  “Hmm. Well, you should lock up and get yourself back to the station then,” Nicholls said, pulling the puppy gently toward him. “I think we’ve got everything we’re going to get from this place. Leave the tape up, and check in on it from time to time.”

  “Yes, sir,” Raven said, though his eyes were fixed upon the puppy still. “Er… I
nspector?”

  “Yes?”

  “Forgive me if I’m speaking out of turn, but it looks like your friend here is interested in something,” The constable nodded at the dog.

  Nicholls looked down at the pup he had absent-mindedly been tugging closer to him and saw that she had her wet nose to the ground, sniffing enthusiastically.

  “Oh yes,” the Inspector remarked. “So she is.” He suddenly felt as proud as the father of a newborn. He bent down to put his hand under the puppy’s chin. He looked into her eyes. “What is it, girl?”

  Nicholls loosened his grip on the leash as the puppy jerked her head away, keen to get on with uncovering the source of her interest. The two men followed as the puppy diligently led them in a zig-zag pattern around the outside of the garage. After drawing them to five large barrels stacked up against the rear of the building, the puppy began repeatedly pointing her nose toward the containers before recoiling with a rapid shake of her head.

  “What are these?” the Inspector asked his Constable.

  “They’re fuel barrels,” Raven replied, his eyes keenly watching the puppy. He grimaced. “The ones that were tampered with. I checked them myself. They come from a fuel depot all the way in Newquay. I’ve asked one of the officers there to check them out.”

  After sniffing around the barrels a little longer, the puppy drew the men away. She quickly trotted toward a corner where a high, sturdy fence separated the garage from its neighbor. There, the ground was piled high with old car parts and boxes. Within a few minutes and after many changes of direction and dead ends, the puppy quickly focused on a small, red fuel can that sat at the edge of the pile.