Into the Clouds

by Marilyn Leach

  “Should do if I weren’t finding myself coming in the going.”

  Since Cara and Rosalie Preswood went into partnership and bought The White Window Box Garden and Gifts, the business had gone from a sleepy little backwater to a busy High Street shop.

  Cara held up three wreaths looped through her arm. “It’s our spring design. These are deliveries.”

  “I should take someone on to do your fetch and carry,” Lillie blurted.

  “They certainly wouldn’t go spare.” Cara offered a light laugh. “It’s our bestseller ever, a mix of herbs and flowers.” Cara gave a quick nod and a wave as she continued on her journey.

  Lillie craned her neck. “That’s the same style wreath we saw on Olivia Mikalos’s front door.”

  “A gift, I remember Linden saying last evening.” Berdie made note that she must find out just who the gift-giver may be.

  “Step in,” Villette interrupted Berdie’s thoughts as she opened the shop door. She pointed to an emptied table for two.

  The table was positioned between a larger table that seated six, one that seated four, and a cupboard, all of which were recent additions to the four tables originally in the shop. Villette had done a wee extension to the tiny space.

  Still, Berdie had to squeeze past the open-fronted cupboard lined with tea tins and stacked china to get to her chair. “Trying to get a quart in a pint pot.” Berdie inhaled as she squeezed through.

  When she and Lillie sat, Villette was upon them.

  “Tea for two,” she stated, rather than asked. “Your usual.” The words galloped from the lips of her horseshoe shaped face. “Fresh scones?” Villette pointed to the kitchen. “Out of the oven not more than five minutes.”

  “Yes, please. And some of your delicious clotted cream.”

  “And some handmade strawberry jam from Mr. Raheem’s shop, as well.” Berdie relaxed back into her chair.

  Villette wrote the request on her pad and spun away to her duties.

  “This will be a nice relief.” Lillie leaned Berdie’s direction and lowered her voice. “Considering all that’s happened this morning concerning the vanished Mrs. Mikalos, do you think Sir Percival is tied up in her absence?”

  “Early days, Lillie. We’ve got to establish that she’s really missing before that question can possibly be answered.”

  “Do you think she is, missing, I mean?”

  Berdie considered the question. “Yes, most likely.”

  “If she is, Sir Percival must be considered as a possible link.” She glanced side to side as if their conversation was clandestine.

  “It would seem a possibility.”

  “How do you establish that someone’s missing, anyway? I mean, how do you find them?”

  “Here we are, then.” Villette transferred the goods on the laden tray to the table so quickly, the scones nearly took flight. “Hot this,” she warned, splashing steaming drops from the teapot on the table. “Go on. Don’t let me interrupt your conversation.”

  “These scones look delicious, Mrs. Horn,” Berdie was wiser than to go on with her conversation. “I can imagine they don’t stay about long.”

  The woman stood stick straight. “Not long, no.”

  “We will enjoy them, and thank you,” Berdie said.

  Lillie leaned as Villette whisked off to another table. “Not often she walks away from the table without some kind of tidbit to disperse.” Lillie splashed milk in her tea. “So, tell me what you do.”

  “What?” Berdie eyed an especially large chunk of strawberry in the jam.

  “How do you find someone who’s missing?”

  “Just briefly,” Berdie said as she split her scone and ladled fresh cream onto her knife, “usually you have a picture to show about and jog peoples’ minds, the more the better.” She plopped the creamy delight atop the steaming scone and spread it until little rivulets dripped down the edge. The aroma sent Berdie’s taste buds reeling. “You find the person or people who last saw the absentee, you look for an on-line footprint, and you check hospitals.” Berdie thrust her knife into the rich red jam and came up with a substantial amount of glistening fruit that she piled on the cream covered scone. She raised the prepared masterpiece to her mouth.

  “Yes, go on,” Lillie demanded.

  Berdie lowered the scone. “Well, you can interview family, and nose round: their homes and workplace, address books, personal gear, and find out if they are involved in any disputes, especially domestic.” She again raised her treat upward.

  “Like Sir Percival and Mrs. Mikalos,” Lillie cut in before munching her own well-loaded scone.

  “If you like.” Berdie opened her mouth.

  “And what if they’ve money?” Lillie wiped jam from her lip.

  Berdie took a deep breath, holding the scone just above her plate. “In the case of money, find out who inherits.” She could feel warm cream ooze around her fingers.

  “My, Villette has outdone herself with these scones. But you haven’t even tried them, yet.”

  Berdie bit into the waiting treasure. The mixture of the sweet fruit, velvety cream, and hot baked scone sent her into soaring delight. “M-m-m.” She felt a touch of cream drip from her finger.

  Villette was at the table again. “See here,” Villette snapped. “You know about these things.”

  “What things?” Berdie wiped her mouth with the ironed pink napkin.

  Villette pulled her head back and dangled a paper before Berdie’s nose. “These things.”

  It was a photo of Olivia Mikalos.

  Lillie gaped.

  Villette whipped the paper back. “‘Have you seen this person?’ it says here.” She squinted. “Olivia M-M.”

  “Have you seen her?” Berdie tried not to show her amazement at what was in Villette’s hands.

  “Should I have?”

  “Where did you get this?” Berdie asked.

  “Taped to my door when I arrived this morning.”

  “Are you going to display it?” Lillie pressed.

  “Well, no. Look.” Villette pointed to the word Mikalos. “She’s Greek.”

  Berdie cleared her throat. “Mrs. Horn, need I remind you that the Duke of Edinburgh is of Greek origin. Surely, if he’s good enough for the Queen, it’s good enough for the likes of us.”

  Villette jutted her lower lip. “You know this woman, then?”

  “We know her son-in-law.” Lillie took another bite of scone.

  “It’s not an unusual practice to show photos of missing persons,” Berdie said.

  “Well, it wasn’t Goodnight gave this to me.”

  “He wouldn’t,” Lillie explained. “Mrs. Mikalos lives near Timsley.”

  “Timsley?” Villette shook her head.

  “It appears our village is where she was last seen. At the fete, yesterday,” Berdie clarified for the disgruntled woman.

  Villette slammed the paper on the table, the picture of Olivia now sporting a jam smudge on her forehead. “You see what comes of having big to-dos in our village? Better to keep ourselves to ourselves.”

  The bell sounded and Hardeep Raheem, sporting his white work apron, entered. “Good morning, Mrs. Horn,” he greeted, and then addressed all those in the shop. “Good morning, ladies and gentleman.” Apart from wearing the most vibrant smile in the whole of the village, he held a box. Red-filled jam jars could be seen poking their heads just above the opening. Mr. Raheem stepped to the table. “Your order.”

  Villette unloaded the box from his hands and beat a hasty retreat.

  He watched the withdrawing figure for a moment, but seemed to shrug off the abrupt behavior. “How nice to see you, Mrs. Elliott, Miss Foxworth.”

  “Would you like to join us, Mr. Raheem?” Berdie invited.

  “The smell of fresh scones.” He sniffed, making his infectious grin even larger. “And kind company. It is a tempting offer, but I have much work,” he apologized in his slight Punjabi accent.

  “More’s the pity,” Lillie sighed.<
br />
  Mr. Raheem spied the photo on the table and picked it up. He studied the picture. “I’ve seen this woman.”

  Berdie felt a tingle. “When, where?”

  “At the fete, on the green, yesterday.” He nodded his head. “Yes, it was definitely her. A very striking woman.”

  “Mr. Raheem, this is important.” Berdie had to calm her words. “Please tell us exactly what you saw.”

  “Is she your friend?”

  “I know a family member.”

  He shrugged, still looking at the photo. “I was delivering the last of my sugar to the refreshment table. Did you know we ran out of the sugar?”

  “Mr. Raheem,” Lillie interrupted, “what did you see?”

  “It happened so quickly. She and two other people talked together over cups of lemonade. I should say the two with her looked to be man and wife?”

  “The two people weren’t familiar to you?” Berdie asked.

  Mr. Raheem placed the paper on the table. “No. They’re not at my store, I’ve never seen them.”

  Berdie took a breath to ask her next question.

  But Lillie beat her to the punch.

  “What did they look like?”

  “Older, kind looking.” He paused. “The man had a very distinct tie.” He furrowed his brow as if to stimulate his memory. “It was blue? Yes, with white and gold diagonal lines.”

  Villette stepped into the conversation with cash in hand. “Here you are, Mr. Raheem. Paid in full.”

  Mr. Raheem bobbed his head. “Thank you, Mrs. Horn.”

  “I’m sure you’ve much to do.” Villette’s tone seemed to be all but pushing the fellow out the door.

  “Mrs. Elliott, Miss Foxworth. I pray all is well for your friend.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Raheem.” Berdie watched the good man retreat.

  “Comes in here wearing his work apron.” Villette crossed her arms. “Mr. Raheem knows her, then, that Greek woman.”

  “Simply saw her. Does not know her,” Berdie corrected as she picked up the photo copy. “May we take this?”

  “Put it in the rubbish bin if you like,” was her curt response before moving on to another table.

  Berdie began to place tiny fragments together in her mind that formed a very blurry and incomplete picture. Of what she wasn’t sure, but something was beginning to take shape. “Burnt roast, Dracula, Barlow, old couple.” She wrinkled her brow. “And Christmastide lunch with Billie Finch.”

  “What are you on about?” Lillie took another bite of scone.

  “We need to talk to Linden about this.” Berdie thrust the paper forward. “Did he put this on the Copper Kettle door?”

  ****

  “Can’t you go faster?” Lillie seemed keen as mustard.

  Usually her best friend asked her to slow down. “I’m doing ten miles an hour over the limit now. Why the rush?”

  Lillie tossed a loose curl back with a quick jerk of her head. “Speed suits me.”

  “Does it?” Berdie hid an interior grin. Perhaps the encounter with Sir Percival emboldened her dear friend to fresh daring.

  The lovely rural road that led to Mistcome Green through open meadows and occasional hedgerows invited quick travel. “We’re almost there.”

  In minutes, they arrived at the road lined with small terraced houses, the third one being home to the Linden Davies family. A single clematis with only a few blooms struggled upward on the wall by the front window, joined by overgrown shrubs that wandered carelessly across the path. Quite unlike the Finch landscape, an occasional foxglove labored to bloom.

  After a quick hello and a please sit down, from Linden they got right to it.

  “I’ve got to go back to work in a few minutes.” Linden rubbed his hands as he sat.

  Lillie and Berdie were seated on a sofa that all but swallowed them.

  “They were kind enough to give me the morning off.”

  Unlike Mrs. Finch, Linden didn’t offer any cordial refreshments. The jam smears on the furniture announced that there were children in the home, and the front window showed water stains on the top corners.

  “Right, no need to go around the houses.” Berdie pulled his mother-in-law’s picture from her purse and held it up. “Did you put this on the door of the Copper Kettle in Aidan Kirkwood?”

  “It’s Mother.” Linden looked shocked. “No, no, I didn’t.”

  “In truth, it’s a fine first step for locating someone. But you’ve nothing to do with it?”

  “No.” Linden still wore amazement. “Who did?”

  “I was hoping you might tell us.”

  Linden shook his head.

  “Actually, quite by accident, we have gotten a small bit of information from the photo already.”

  “Have you?”

  “Mr. Raheem, the green grocer in Aidan Kirkwood, saw your mother at the fete speaking with an older couple.”

  Linden’s brows rose.

  “The gentleman had a distinctive tie, blue with gold and white stripes.” Lillie ran her finger up and down the bodice of her dress.

  “Any idea who the older couple may be, friends?” Berdie waited.

  Linden rubbed his forehead. “Not really. Mother certainly had friends her age and older, but none I really know.”

  “Surely you’ve met some,” Lillie stated.

  “Has she spoken of any activities with friends?” Berdie watched the man rub his forehead again as if it were a magic lamp that would produce some genie of memory.

  “Mrs. Finch, perhaps. And there’s that boorish neighbor of Mother’s, although he could hardly be considered a friend.”

  Berdie and Lillie exchanged glances.

  “There was that fellow she was seeing when we moved here. Mr. Long-something, was it?”

  “Longmont?” Lillie suggested.

  “Longhurst. That was it. Not that it matters. The whole thing seemed to be over before it started. We met him once. Nice chap, I ‘spose.”

  Berdie’s sense of loose ends danced. “Was it an amicable split?”

  “I don’t know that there was really anything to split. Just saw him the once.” Linden’s brows elevated as if a light had turned on. “I remember she spoke of visiting a sports club with someone.”

  “And?”

  He shook his head. “That’s it, really.”

  “What about relatives?”

  “She had a brother who died in childhood. There’s a few far flung overseas in-laws. Apart from that, her son, Myles, Elise’s brother, lives in Reading.”

  “Have you contacted him?”

  “Oh, yes. He’s not seen nor heard from her.”

  “Did your mother-in-law have any active on-line interests?” Berdie asked.

  “I’m not sure she even knows where her computer is. Her husband used it.”

  “Excuse me, Linden.” Lillie tipped her head. “Is that the sum total of what you know of your mother-in-law’s dealings?”

  Linden stood. He stepped to the window, hands behind his back, and looked onto the narrow road.

  “Linden?” Berdie urged as much as questioned.

  He turned back to Berdie, and then glanced at Lillie. “Please treat the information I’m giving you as strictly confidential.”

  “Of course,” Berdie assured as Lillie nodded.

  “My mother-in-law is a very private person. And it’s really not for me to say, so much as my wife’s.” He stepped closer. “It’s just that Olivia and Elise, my wife, have not had what one might consider an especially close relationship for some time now.”

  “I see.” Berdie laid the photocopy on the arm of the couch.

  “About a year ago, things seemed to improve between them, and I thought it could be an opportunity to mend fences, especially for our children’s sake. So, at my urging, we moved here to be closer to Olivia. I found a job in Timsley, at only half my former wage. Still, we decided to up sticks, and here we are.”

  “A rather large adjustment.” Berdie wondered how much of
a mend would be worth the financial sacrifice.

  “The choirmaster position at St. Matthew,” Lillie leaned forward. “Feeble pay as it is, you took it for the money?”

  “I appreciate the stipend,” Linden nodded. “It’s enjoyable work. And pennies become pounds.”

  “Of course.” Lillie looked at the worn carpet in front of her.

  “And I imagine restoring the relationship of your wife and mother has had its own rewards.” Berdie mined more than stated.

  “Ah.” Linden tapped his fingers on his knee. “Not so much.”

  “Yes?”

  “Not long after we arrived here, Olivia and Elise had a rather large disagreement that made a real mess of things. My wife wanted to move back to Manchester, but I had hoped they could work it out.” Linden sat in the chair again.

  “All mothers and daughters go through periods of difficulty.” Berdie spoke from experience.

  “It being only a period of difficulty has about as much chance as a mid-Atlantic rowboat.”

  The considerable noise of the front door opening was followed by clattering and a child’s laughter in the hall.

  A fair-haired girl who looked to be about five years old rushed into the sitting room and climbed onto Linden’s lap. “Daddy,” she squealed with obvious delight as he wrapped his arms around her.

  “Daddy?” Elise Davies entered the room, her dark brows knit, carrier bags in hand. “Why aren’t you at work?”

  Linden put his daughter on the floor as he stood. “Elise, this is Berdie Elliott and Lillie Foxworth.”

  The woman didn’t smile.

  Linden put his hand on his daughter’s shoulder. “And this is Madeline.”

  The small girl, unlike her mother, wore a shy grin. She leaned against her father’s leg.

  “Hello Madeline,” Berdie addressed and turned to the sullen wife. “Mrs. Davies.”

  Elise lifted her brows and gave a terse tip of the head to Berdie. The small-framed woman had her mother’s cheek bones. The golden brown hair, straight and parted down the middle, stopped just above her fine chin line, also a motherly inheritance. But the rest of her facial features were apparently contributed by Mr. Mikalos: small eyes, razor thin nose, and considerable lips. “You’re Miss Foxworth?”

  Lillie gave a cautious nod. “Hello, Mrs. Davies.”