Into the Clouds

by Marilyn Leach

  Lillie puckered her lips. “Will you be patient? There’s more.” Lillie leaned in closer to the laptop. “She’s married.”

  “Married?” Berdie reared back.

  “Exactly.” Lillie now wore a certain smugness.

  “How did you make that discovery?”

  “Well, the evening they dined at the Hotel de Hopedes, they made dinner reservations for Mr. and Mrs. Thing-a-me and arrived hand in hand.” Lillie dipped her chin and raised her brows as if it was astounding that such a thing happened.

  “Thing-a-me?”

  “The hostess couldn’t remember the name, but she remembered the Mr. and Mrs. part. That’s certainly significant.”

  “Is it?”

  Lillie frowned.

  “It’s just that there are still people today, who wish to be discreet. If Livy and her man are having a bit of an affair they may want to keep it private, particularly if he could be married. Sorry to say, but there it is.”

  Lillie’s frown deepened. “Harriett said that near Christmas Livy had disclosed how tired she was of being alone, how she longed for love and enduring companionship.”

  Berdie leaned forward. “All the more.”

  Lillie furrowed her brow. “Are you saying needy people are reckless?”

  “Not at all, Lillie. I’m just saying consider your options when you’re at the top of your game. It makes for better choices.”

  “Well, Livy’s not the kind of woman who would pick forbidden fruit.”

  “You know that?”

  Lillie took a deep breath and frowned even more.

  “All right, Lillie. Did the hostess notice wedding rings?”

  Lillie simply stared at Berdie.

  “Is there a way to check marriage registries in Portugal? What about venues offering wedding packages, particularly for tourists?”

  Lillie removed her glasses. Gone was the island sunshine. “Well, I haven’t gotten every detail worked out, yet.”

  Berdie decided to bring out the bait and put on a broad smile. “Speaking of love, Loren’s back tomorrow.”

  Rain clouds seemed to appear over Lillie’s head. She crossed her arms. “Is that significant?”

  “Yes. Isn’t it?”

  Lillie grabbed the laptop screen and leaned her face into it. “I’ll get back to you when I’ve made more noteworthy progress,” she said with vinegar and snapped it shut.

  “No, Lillie, Lillie, can you hear me?” Berdie tapped on her now blank screen. “Lillie, let’s talk about this. I’m sorry, I thought…” It didn’t matter what she thought. Lillie had ended the session and that was that. This was not the outcome Berdie had hoped for. “Oh, bother.”

  Hugh entered the sacristy, and snapped a book into its place among other theological tomes on a bookshelf. “You’ve spoken to Lillie?”

  Berdie still stared at the blank screen. “I have, yes.” She closed the laptop and sighed.

  “Oh, that didn’t sound very enthusiastic.”

  “Well, it wouldn’t.”

  “Not coming home on the next plane, then?”

  “No.”

  “Did you tell her Loren was…?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, dear.” He ran his finger over another book. “What’s she doing out there, anyway? I mean alone, unplanned.”

  Berdie didn’t want to go into all of it, especially since it involved investigating Harriett Norman’s relative. “Seeking adventure and getting sun-kissed.”

  “She’ll come around soon. Hopefully, by Sunday.” He tugged a book forward, eyed it, and grasped it in his hand. “Speaking of adventure.” He moved next to Berdie and put his free hand on her shoulder. “Grayson has invited us to accompany him to the sports club again.”

  “That’s kind of him.” Berdie, still thinking of Lillie, spoke idly.

  “Good, then we’ll go.” Hugh squeezed her shoulder and it brought her fully into the current dialogue. He became energized and started for the door. “Three o’clock, it is.”

  “Three o’clock? Today? What about tea?”

  “Is that a problem?” Hugh’s liveliness tapered as he paused at the door.

  Berdie was of no mind to go for a paddle with the privileged of Timsley, but she couldn’t bear to see her lovely husband’s good spirits dashed. How could she deny him? She placed a finger on her lips. And when she actually considered it, this could prove to be an excellent opportunity for a good snoop around if she approached it properly.

  “I noticed when last there it had a lovely lounge, just right for snuggling into a great book. And I’m in the middle of a book you’d appreciate, Computers and Their Functions. Perhaps I could dig in whilst you and Mr. Webb swim?”

  “It’s settled.” The pep returned to Hugh’s voice. “Three o’clock, it is.”

  Berdie felt a rush of vibrancy as Hugh departed.

  Lillie was fiddling about.

  But Berdie had a real case that needed all the attention she could give. This morning, her trip to the bakery had yielded some unexpected surprises. Who knew what the afternoon could bring? The Seabrook Sports Club visit could be her own fresh adventure in stretched rubberbands.

  9

  Berdie snuggled into the comfortable armchair, one of several sprinkled throughout the club drawing room, opened her book, and waved Hugh and Grayson Webb on their way to the men’s changing room and a relaxing swim. “Now you must enjoy yourselves for as long as you please,” Berdie insisted.

  Ten minutes in, Berdie decided it was time.

  Hugh and Grayson would now be pacing their strokes through the water.

  She wasn’t entirely sure just what she was looking for, but she had the sense she would know when she found it. A ripple of enthusiasm surged within and she launched into a walk about.

  What first? “Outdoor terrace,” she whispered.

  Lavish garden furniture held an abundance of lovelies in skimpy attire, both men and women, soaking up the sun. Many didn’t even appear to have stuck so much as a toe in the swimming pool. And it would seem a flirty air permeated the gathered bunch. But then it was late spring, after all.

  Passing an especially amorous fellow who ogled her, Berdie coughed, bringing her left hand to her mouth where she hoped he could clearly see her wedding band. It didn’t seem to detract his stare. Whatever insight she was seeking, she was sure this patio did not hold it, and became suddenly aware she was quite peckish. She’d not had anything to eat since her pot of tea with Hugh at the Copper Kettle. Just a quick bite of something would do, and she could return to her task at hand. “Excuse me,” she spoke to a couple strolling past. “Is there a café here?”

  The woman took her gaze off her companion just long enough to offer a brief--”Main entrance, next to the indoor pool”--and moved on.

  “Sorry to have troubled,” Berdie offered. When Berdie found it, the glass door to the café, which read “Healthy spoken here” was held open for her by a gentlemen, who by his gear, was a member of the bowls team. As she made way to the bar where smoothies and other treats were being served up, she felt rather conspicuously overdressed in the trousers and blouse that had suited her morning outing.

  Conversations spun from the tables of people enjoying fine fare along a glass wall that overlooked the indoor pool.

  Then she spotted a familiar face.

  Preston Graystone, Aidan Kirkwood’s own solicitor, sat at a table. Leaning back in his chair with legs extended, the widower and father of Cara Graystone Donovan was swathed in what looked to be a very large bath towel, but indeed, was a sort of robe. Its soft texture stood in stark contrast to Mr. Graystone’s angular fifty-something features.

  With him was a woman who looked to be close to his age, gray-blond hair swept up and fastened. Her long legs were crossed beneath a short rose-colored wrap that only half covered her white bathing costume. Both she and Preston sipped what looked to be some sort of tomato juice cocktails, chatting as if seated seaside on the Costa del Sol.

  Berd
ie’s intrigue about Mr. Graystone and friend pulled her like a giant magnet and she approached their table.

  “Mrs. Elliott,” Preston called out. “What a surprise seeing you here.”

  The woman eyed Berdie.

  “Hugh and I are guests of Mr. Webb,” Berdie informed the man, who was generally just cordial enough not to be considered offensive.

  “Oh, I see,” Preston offered in an almost enthusiastic tone. He didn’t stand.

  Berdie glanced at the woman.

  “Yes. Mrs. Elliott, this is a colleague of mine, Mrs. Audrey Wenn-Patton.”

  “Hello Mrs. Wenn-Patton.” The moment Berdie said it, she sparked. Wenn-Patton. Preston’s colleague. Could this be the advisor of whom Elise Davies spoke of with such displeasure whilst pruning her garden? How many legal Wenn-Pattons could there be?

  A broad smile highlighted by lustrous lips greeted Berdie along with a friendly, “Won’t you join us?”

  Mr. Graystone looked admiringly at the woman. Perhaps this explained his buoyant attitude.

  “Do fetch a chair, Preston,” Audrey directed.

  “I don’t mean to interrupt,” Berdie prevaricated politely.

  “Nonsense.” Mrs. Wenn-Patton patted the table and took another sip of her drink.

  Preston didn’t appear to be especially thrilled with Audrey’s invitation to Berdie, but set to dragging an empty chair from a nearby table.

  “So, you and Mr. Graystone are colleagues,” Berdie reiterated.

  “How many years has it been?” The woman looked at the ceiling and released a puff of air. “More years than I care to remember, I dare say.”

  Mr. Graystone placed the chair at the table and Berdie seated herself with a “Thank you.”

  “Mrs. Elliott’s husband is the vicar in Aidan Kirkwood,” Graystone lifted his brows as he spoke.

  “Oh, very well done.” Audrey’s words seemed to frivolously bump into one another.

  “You said Mrs. Wenn-Patton is a colleague,” Berdie redirected.

  “A fine solicitor.” Preston raised his glass to the woman, who did likewise. Both took another swallow.

  Cocktail glass in hand, the woman continued. “I was a solicitor, well, still am, really, but no longer in private practice.”

  “Audrey, Mrs. Wenn-Patton, chairs Timsley’s Council on Aging.” Preston spoke with almost hallowed tones.

  Audrey smiled and leaned back. “As I’m joining the ranks of the wrinklies, I jolly well want to have a say in the policies the government develops for us. Right, Preston?”

  Mr. Graystone flushed a bit.

  Berdie wanted to let go a good laugh, but only allowed a wide grin.

  “Audrey’s not one to beat about the bushes.”

  She leaned toward Berdie. “When I became a solicitor, it was a man’s game, and I had to learn to wield the bat with the best of them.”

  “Yes, I should think,” Berdie agreed.

  “Mrs. Elliott may have a sense of that.” Preston whirled the celery stick of his cocktail in lazy circles. “Before her occupation with church affairs, she was an investigative journalist. Quite good, by all accounts.”

  Berdie worked at not showing her surprise.

  Preston was not only conversational, but complimentary.

  Mrs. Wenn-Patton lit up like a summer sunrise and raised her glass to Berdie. “All girls together.”

  Berdie tipped her head to the woman.

  Audrey frowned as if she realized all at once. “Preston, Mrs. Elliott is empty handed.” She lowered her voice. “I’m afraid a traditional morning cocktail that mixes organic tomato juice with a hint of Russian bite is the closest thing I can abide for a health drink. You have to get them in the dining room of the café where they serve full meals. Angelo fixes us up.” She looked at Preston. “We must remedy this, and it’s your round, I believe.” She lifted her chin with expectation.

  It tickled Berdie to see the man who was generally gruff and distant, the legal mind of Aidan Kirkwood, dance to the tune of Audrey Wenn-Patton’s commands. He stood. “Of course. Excuse me, ladies.” The man ambled off.

  Berdie jumped on the opportunity to sound out the slightly mellowed Wenn-Patton. “Actually, Mrs. Wenn-Patton, I’m in the course of an investigation unofficially, as we speak. A missing persons.”

  “Are you?” The woman closed one eye and peered at Berdie with the other. “You need legal advice.”

  “Well, not as such. But I am curious if you may have any information on a specific client.”

  “There’s client confidentiality, you know. Still, out with it.”

  “Have you ever had any official dealings with a Mrs. Olivia Mikalos?”

  “Ah, Mikalos.”

  “You have, then.”

  “No,” the solicitor said baldly. “But, I was once in the employ of the team that did legal work for Spiro Mikalos, her husband.”

  Berdie felt her itch for discovery outweighing her sense of propriety on legal ethics. “It’s a matter of the will.”

  Audrey’s shaped brows rose. “I’m assuming we’re not speaking of will as in inner resolve.”

  “No.”

  “Spiro Mikalos was a bit, shall we say, unconventional.”

  “How unconventional?” flew from Berdie’s lips.

  Mrs. Wenn-Patton ran a finger down her slender drinks glass.

  Berdie replayed the husky words, ‘examine the money’ in her mind. She hadn’t considered the fortunes of Olivia’s husband. “It’s just that it could be a primary thread in finding Olivia Mikalos. She’s in dangerous trouble, I’m sure of it. Can you help? All girls together?”

  The woman took a deep breath. “Technically, the man’s no longer my client. But you know I cannot disclose that kind of information.”

  “No, of course not.” Berdie wanted to shake the woman into divulging what she knew, but at the same moment understood her legal position.

  Audrey’s gaze wandered to a nearby table. “To change the subject entirely,” she smiled, “that family seems to be enjoying themselves.” She nodded her head toward a mother, father, and two children clad in swim wear, all seated at a table.

  Berdie looked their direction.

  No one seemed especially cheerful.

  “I did notice that the father brought a fully laden food tray to the table.”

  “As fathers often do,” Berdie offered in vacant patter wondering why this information was even vocalized.

  “Ah, and now he’s departing.” Audrey nodded again at the family.

  Berdie watched the father dash off, towel in hand, probably for a swim.

  The solicitor leaned toward Berdie. “He brought a full tray to the table.” She dropped her chin.

  “You said.” Berdie studied Mrs. Wenn-Patton’s eyes that had a special sparkle. “He, the father, brought a laden tray, yes. I see.”

  Audrey leaned back in her chair. “He’s left mother, for the most part, to dole out the food to the children.”

  “Yes, he has.” Berdie now watched the family closely as the mother took smoothies from the tray and placed them before the two squirming youngsters.

  “You know, the father may have wanted his children to wait some period of time before they actually got to eat their food.”

  Berdie tipped her head. “How long, exactly?”

  The woman shrugged. “Perhaps some minutes after he left the table. But children being children, it could seem like five years.”

  “Yes, well, he wouldn’t want them to get tummy ache after swimming. That is, best to calm down, resist gobbling?”

  “Calm down, indeed.” Audrey took another quick sip of her drink. “He may even appoint a person of trust to keep the smoothies in hand, and then see that each child gets theirs at the appropriately elapsed time.”

  “Yes. I see.” Her thoughts were aligning information. “But, now, mother still holds the lion’s share of the tray of goods.” Berdie no longer eyed the table of innocent characters in the unfolding revelation.
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  Audrey nodded. “It looks like the children will each get a smoothie, but Mummy gets a smoothie plus three sandwiches and three bags of crisps.”

  Berdie faced the ‘advisor’ squarely.

  “So, the offspring get their smoothie at the appropriate time from a trusted friend, and eventually, when Mum also leaves the table like Daddy, they get whatever she hasn’t eaten herself. And that could be a full tray or merely a bag of crisps.”

  Audrey simply smiled.

  “And if Mummy should leave the table prematurely, before the proper time has elapsed for the children to begin sipping their smoothies?”

  “The little ones will get the lot, the entirety of the edibles Daddy brought to the table.”

  “Do they, indeed?”

  Preston Graystone seemed to arrive from nowhere and sat three lovely tomato juice cocktails on the table. “You seem deep in conversation.”

  Audrey and Berdie exchanged glances.

  “We were just talking about families,” Berdie quickly responded.

  “Thank you, Preston.” Audrey placed her hand on his momentarily, sipped the last of her drink and took up the replacement. “Preston’s been such a good friend since my ex-husband decided to hang his hat on another’s peg rail.”

  Preston quickly pointed toward the pool. “Isn’t that the vicar?”

  Berdie turned her gaze just in time to see Hugh pull himself out of the water, and grab his nearby towel.

  “That’s your vicar?” Audrey asked with whipped cream on her tongue.

  “Yes, that’s my husband,” Berdie responded quite pointedly.

  “Our vicar’s with the council chairman.” Mr. Graystone nodded toward the pool as Grayson Webb emerged.

  “You’re familiar with them?” Audrey addressed Preston and took another slow sip of Russian bite.

  “Mr. Graystone attends church regularly,” Berdie answered.

  “Why haven’t you taken me to church with you?” Audrey swept her gaze to the pool.

  Preston Graystone’s eyes widened, while he appeared to collect his words. “But you never said.”

  “It would be a delight to see you there.” Berdie made sure her tone was circumspect. “Perhaps you could bring Audrey this Sunday, Mr. Graystone?”

  Preston Graystone tapped a finger on the table. “If Audrey is so inclined.”