Screaming Yellow

by Rachel Green

  Catherine looked up. “I do, ma’am. I was never one of Sir Robert’s chosen and I’ve a bit of a hankering to go back to Bridlington. I miss the sea, ma’am.”

  Jean rubbed her eyes and inspected the grain of sand lodged under her fingernail. “Very well. I believe the severance terms are a week’s wages for every month you have been with us.”

  Amanda handed her the accounts book and she totted up the sum in her head. “I’ll round up it up to fifteen hundred pounds.” Her voice softened. “I’ll give you an excellent reference, of course. I hope you’re happier wherever you find yourself next.” She made an entry next to Catherine’s name.

  Catherine dipped her head. “Thank you, ma’am. It’s nothing personal. I just have a different path to tread, I think.”

  “As you like. We wish you well.” Jean nodded a dismissal and handed the accounts book back to Amanda. “Just leave it on my desk. I’ll make a bank transfer after the inquest. Set out the black again. I’ll be happier when I can discard the mourning black, but I must still play the grieving lady of the house.”

  * * * *

  The verdict of the inquest was that the death of Robert Markhew was by misadventure–murder by a party as yet undetermined.

  Meinwen caught up with Inspector White outside the courthouse. “What will you do now?”

  “Instigate a full alert for Richard Godwin.” White handed the case files to Sergeant Peters and opened his umbrella. “We’ll soon have him behind bars. Even if he didn’t do it, I’ll warrant he knows who did.”

  “Do you think he saw the killer and is now in fear for his own life?” Meinwen pulled her black woolen coat closed, flipping the hood up to protect her hair from the rain. It always went frizzy when wet.

  “Anything’s possible. It would explain why he vanished so abruptly if he’s innocent.” White pulled up the collar of his raincoat.

  Simon hurried up to them. “Is there any progress on the case? Has Richard turned up yet?”

  “No and no,” said Meinwen. “Death by misadventure and the police have begun a search for him.”

  “The poor lad.” Simon was hunched against the rain but White made no move to offer him space under the umbrella. The hem of Simon’s cassock was already sodden where it flowed from beneath his coat. “The evidence points to him, does it?”

  “Not yet.” White increased his pace. “But until we’ve questioned him he won’t be ruled off the suspect list.”

  Meinwen stayed at his side. “I’m still certain he’s innocent. I’d feel it if he weren’t. That phone call to Simon from the station is the clue. If we could find out who made that call it would go a long way to solving the crime.”

  White laughed. “Finding the murderer would go a long way to solving it as well.”

  “Did that letter that Robert received when I was there ever turn up?” Simon asked. “The one from Grace Peters?”

  “No,” White said. “I would be very interested to see that. It might shed some light on the fingerprints we lifted off the knife as well.”

  Meinwen chewed her lip. “They didn’t match anyone in the house, did they?”

  “Unfortunately not.”

  “Did you compare them with Robert Markhew’s? I wouldn’t be surprised if the killer is trying to confuse you.”

  “What makes you say that?” White paused and looked at her, one eyebrow raised.

  “We know that Robert must have held the blade. If the murderer wore gloves it stands to reason that the only ones on there would be his.”

  “That’s partially true.” White began walking again. “We did indeed lift Markhew’s own fingerprints off the knife, but they were in the wrong position, as if he was holding it to his own chest.”

  Meinwen nodded. “I think I can explain that.”

  “Oh? That’s interesting. How would you know why he’d held the knife to himself? We have no reason to think he was suicidal.”

  “He wasn’t.” Meinwen touched his arm lightly. “My shop is just up that way.” She pointed to the alleyway leading off the market. “I can’t really show you my theory in a public place.”

  White gave her a curt nod. “Very well. Lead on.”

  * * * *

  “Imagine I’m Robert Markhew,” said Meinwen in the relative privacy of her shop. The floor was fairly clear now, since she had spent so much of the previous day getting the place ready to open. Neither Simon nor the inspector looked too closely at the contents of the shelves.

  White frowned and sat back in the hard chair. “You’re a little small to be him but I can suspend disbelief for a few minutes.”

  “Good.” Meinwen glanced at Simon, sitting in her grandfather’s chair to watch. “Now imagine that you’re a woman.”

  White laughed. “That’s a little more difficult. Do you want me to speak in a high voice?” He shared a grin with Simon, like two schoolboys with a private joke.

  “Don’t be silly.” Meinwen picked something up from her desk and approached White’s back. “Now don’t turn around. Imagine that you’re in love with me.”

  “All right.” White sounded dubious. “I’m not though. I’m very happy with my Beryl, thanks.”

  “Good for you.” Meinwen patted his back. “This is just pretend. I’m Robert Markhew, remember?”

  “Go on then.” White took a deep breath and shrugged twice. “Oh, Mr. Markhew. “I’m so in love with you that I want to have your babies.”

  “That’s a little over the top.” Meinwen snaked an arm around him. “Close your eyes.”

  “No funny business.” White twisted his head to grin at her. “Remember there’s a priest watching.”

  “Shush. Close your eyes.”

  “If you say so.” White winked at Simon and did as he was asked.

  Meinwen changed hands and held a piece of cold steel to his neck. “I’m going to cut your clothes off,” she said. “I’m going to cut off the buttons one by one with this knife until you’re completely naked.”

  “Oh yes?” White said. “What then? Assuming I don’t break both your arms and have you arrested?”

  “You wouldn’t because you love me and you’d do anything I asked you to.”

  “That doesn’t include cutting my buttons off,” said White. “Beryl would have a fit.”

  “Okay, that’s enough.” Meinwen sighed. “Open your eyes. This was supposed to be a sexy bit of foreplay between a virile man and a woman desperate to please him. Look at the knife I’m holding.”

  White opened his eyes “It’s a letter opener.”

  “Yes,” she said, “but look at the way I’m holding it with the blade toward you and my thumb almost touching the butt of the handle. Which way ’round are my fingerprints?”

  “Oh yes.” The inspector raised his eyebrows. “They’re the wrong way ’round. Very clever.”

  “There.” Meinwen put the letter opener back onto her desk. “That’s my theory, anyway. The killer wore gloves and the only time this knife was used before the murder was for sex games.”

  “It certainly looked plausible to me,” said Simon. “If I wasn’t a priest…” He laughed.

  * * * *

  “Inspector White, Father, Miss Jones.” Amanda answered the front door to The Larches. “Is this an official visit?”

  “It is.” Meinwen bustled past her. “We need to talk with Mrs. Markhew, if you please.”

  Amanda led them past the crime scene tape of the study to the sitting room. “I’ll inform the mistress of your presence.”

  Meinwen caught her arm. “We also need to talk to Mary, Peter and Nicole. Could you ask them to come as well, please?”

  “Yes, miss. Right away.” Amanda hurried upstairs.

  Susan Pargeter came in from the direction of the kitchen. “Would you like refreshments? Tea, coffee?”

  “That’s very kind of you.” Meinwen glanced at the Inspector’s stony face. “Tea for me, please. Caffeine free, if you have it.”

  “Nothing for me.” White looked
toward the stairs

  “Father?”

  “Oh. Ordinary tea, please.” Simon beamed at her. “You are too kind.”

  “I don’t think we’ve got any caffeine free.” Susan frowned. “Would you like coffee instead?”

  “A sprig of fresh thyme in water then.” Meinwen smiled.

  “Hot water?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Right you are.” Susan left, pausing at the door to make way for Jean Markhew. Mary and Nicole followed, with Peter arriving just as Susan returned with the drinks. He took the tray and set it on the table.

  “What’s this about?” asked Jean, looking from the inspector to Simon and Meinwen.

  “We need to know where Richard is. The longer he stays away the more incriminating the evidence against him. At the moment it’s only circumstantial but…” She looked at Mary.

  “Me?” said the girl. “I don’t know where he is. I haven’t seen him since before Uncle Robert was murdered.”

  “Haven’t you been in contact with him?” Meinwen indicated the expensive cell phone dangling from her wrist.

  “No. He doesn’t answer his phone. I told you that.” Mary’s face creased. “I swear I don’t know where he is.”

  “Does anyone else?” Meinwen looked at each of the others in turn. They all shook their heads. “Does anyone know anything more at all, even if it doesn’t seem important?”

  “All that I can say is that it’s a good thing that we haven’t announced the engagement.” Jean brushed an imaginary speck of dust from her black dress. “I don’t want Mary’s good name sullied. He’s obviously guilty.”

  “How can you say that?” Mary asked. “You’re talking about the man I’m engaged to.”

  “She doesn’t mean it.” Peter put a hand on her shoulder and she clutched at it.

  “I certainly do.” Jean stood. “Inspector, what will happen to the estate if Richard is found guilty?”

  White cleared his throat. “You can’t profit from murder. Richard’s portion would be divided proportionately between the other beneficiaries, I imagine. The details would be up to the executor.”

  “Then I shall get on to Ms. du Pointe shortly and tell her the will is being contested.”

  “How can you be so callous?” Mary clutched at her mother’s arm. “Richard and I are supposed to get married. Nicole, will you put a formal announcement in the paper?”

  “Er…” Nicole looked to her employer.

  “She will do no such thing.” Jean very deliberately extracted her arm from Mary’s grasp. “It would be imprudent until this murderer is caught and behind bars.”

  “Meinwen?” Mary turned to her. “Can’t you talk some sense into Mother? Richard and I are supposed to be in love.”

  “I’m sorry.” Meinwen shook her head. “I have to agree with Mrs. Markhew. You’ve been engaged for a while. I doubt that another few days would make a difference. If it is true love, what difference does a formal announcement make?”

  Mary gave a deep sigh and slumped. “I suppose so. I just wish everyone didn’t assume my fiancé is the killer.”

  “We don’t,” Meinwen replied. “But we need to find him to clear his name. I will discover who killed Robert Markhew if I have to summon his ghost and ask him personally. I will find out the truth in spite of you all.”

  “What do you mean, in spite of us?” asked Nicole. “You make it sound like we’re trying to hide the murderer from you.”

  “Not the murderer, perhaps,” said Meinwen, “but each of you has a secret that they don’t want exposed. Not just one, in some cases.” She looked at each of them in turn.

  “I don’t know what you mean,” said Jean. “I resent your accusations in my own home.”

  “I don’t have secrets,” Mary said.

  “Nor I,” said Nicole.

  Peter shook his head, not speaking.

  “Please,” said Meinwen. “If one of you tells me, it will save a lot of time and embarrassment, because I will find out what they are.”

  She looked at their faces. Even Simon averted his eyes.

  “I think you should leave now.” Jean stood and drew herself to her full height. “I’ve heard enough.”

  “Very well.” Meinwen held up her hands in a placating gesture. “I’m sorry none of you felt you could trust me.”

  Chapter 19

  Meinwen was halfway down the road by the time Simon caught up with her. “Insufferable people.” She glared at him. “They close ranks against outsiders like an arsehole against a finger.”

  Simon coughed. “I say! I am still a priest, you know.”

  “Sorry.” Meinwen waved her Guide to Laverstone. “I don’t want to go through the woods today. Show me a bit more of the town instead.”

  “If you like, though avoiding the woodland path adds a further fifteen minutes of walking. We’ll have to travel right to the opposite end of the park then double back to get to the east gate.”

  “Are you afraid of a little extra walking?”

  “Hardly.” Simon led her a different way, pointing out the boat house and the miniature railway station, closed at present, and as they left by the eastern gate, the old Dillon’s Fabrication plant, a building left derelict by the steel industry collapse in the eighties.

  “They seem a little reticent about helping you with this investigation.” Simon fell a step behind when they at last turned into their road and Meinwen’s mood brightened.

  “More than a little,” Meinwen replied. “Each of them thinks that their little secret is important. In normal times it probably is, but against the backdrop of a murder it all pales to insignificance.”

  Simon nodded. “Unless one of them is the murderer.”

  Meinwen paused. “Exactly. That’s the secret I would understand them keeping, though it will be out in the end. Hugin will tell me.”

  “Who?” Simon dug his hand into his trouser pocket and pulled out a string of rosary beads. He kept it in his hand as they talked, fingers stroking the jade beads.

  “Hugin, one of Odin’s ravens, named for thought.”

  “Oh. Those blasted birds again.”

  “Of course.” Meinwen walked on. “The Goddess gave me an omen to reassure me that I would find the truth. Hugin’s feather.”

  “Omens. What nonsense you believe, Meinwen. There are no omens, just serendipitous occurrences you can interpret to mean whatever you like.”

  Meinwen laughed. “You’re a priest and you don’t believe in omens?”

  “Of course not. God has no need to give us such things, they are an abomination.”

  “That old chestnut again.” Meinwen smiled. “Deuteronomy this time, I believe?”

  Simon nodded.

  “I thought we’d established that the Old Testament was outdated? What if the three astrologers from the East had taken that view? The birthday party of Jesus would have been a small affair.” Meinwen patted Simon’s shoulder. “Admit it. The church changes its mind with the seasons.”

  “Hardly.” Simon clutched the cross on the end of the beads. “I’d be defrocked if I disagreed with doctrine, whatever my personal opinion.”

  “Can you honestly say you’ve never had a feeling of impending doom?” Meinwen asked.

  Simon shrugged. “I’d be lying if I did, but I think of that as an angel’s warning, not an omen.”

  “Just as I do.” Meinwen smiled again. “Angels are supernatural beings in any theology. Just because I don’t have the mental image of a winged eunuch in a white robe doesn’t make my belief in them any less real.”

  “I’m glad we agree on something at least.” Simon stopped at the gate to Bridge House. “Much as I enjoy our debates on theology, I must get on. I’m neglecting the parish duties.”

  “And I must get down to the shop.” Meinwen walked a little past his gate before turning. “I’ll see you later, shall I?”

  “Perhaps. If I’ve got time.”

  “You must eat.” Meinwen glanced at her own hous
e “How about dinner? I’ll ask Jennifer too.”

  “All right.” Simon seemed reluctant. “Six o’clock?”

  * * * *

  The sunlight felt warm on Peter’s skin. The glass of the conservatory amplified the heat without the chilling effects of the April breeze and the bench he was lying on had been in the sun for an hour already. His cock stirred as dust mote patterns danced on his closed eyelids.

  “You like it here then?” Jean trailed red-tipped fingers across his chest, following the trail to his bare thighs before lifting them at his knees. Peter blushed as he felt his erection grow.

  He could hear the bubble of humor in her voice as she stroked the length of his shaft. “You’re the only man around here now. I could elevate you to a position of some authority, if you have the mind for it.”

  He opened his eyes. Jean looked younger when she was relaxed and he felt an attraction to her that was incongruous. “No, ma’am. I could not be your partner. I’m sorry.”

  She nodded. “I can’t say I’m not disappointed. May I ask why? Are you gay?”

  Peter grinned. “Not exactly. I would have thought that much was obvious.”

  “Not necessarily.” Jean sat on the edge of the bench by his knees. “You had your eyes closed. You could have been thinking about Robert, imagining him touching you.”

  “I wasn’t,” he replied. “I could smell your scent over that of the gardenias. I knew that it was you touching me. I loved Robert dearly, but I’m bisexual rather than gay. I love the person before the gender.”

  “Then why? Can you not imagine loving me in the same way?”

  He rolled onto his side and raised himself on one elbow “I can imagine it but I cannot countenance it. That woman was right when she said I had a secret.”

  “Would you care to tell me what it is?” Jean stopped touching him and pulled back, watching him with the intensity of a cat watching a canary.

  “I love your daughter. She doesn’t know and I would never tell her, especially since she’s in love with Richard. When Robert died I stayed to look after her. I’ll stay for as long as you both allow me to, though she will never know the truth. Not from me, at any rate.”