Candle for a Corpse

by Marilyn Leach

  “You’re not on Edsel’s track are you?” Ivy stiffened.

  Berdie was perplexed. “Edsel’s track?”

  “My husband’s dafter than a topside down Christmas pudding.” The woman scrunched her red face. “He swears by all that’s holy that Jamie didn’t do it.” Ivy Butz tilted from anger into painful distress at the chasm that separated herself from her cherished Edsel. “He defends the boy, still.”

  “Guilt or innocence is decided in the courts, Ivy. We must leave it in Divine hands.” The truth was that something inside her indeed was “on Edsel’s track.” Circumstances that screamed solidly that Jamie was the murderer gave way to loosely substantiated possibilities. Odd. Something was odd. But Berdie turned to the matter at hand.

  “I think our first concern is Lucy. Right now, she’s the issue. Do you agree?”

  “Of course.” Mrs. Butz blew her nose. “She’s on Edsel’s track, you know.” She sniffed. “And she’s angry at me because I’m not. Edsel’s going to stay at the flat above the shop to give me some space says he. Our Lucy wants to go with him. What a holiday this looks to be.”

  The sound of a phone ringing somewhere in another room interrupted the conversation. It rang only twice followed by a small murmuring voice, then a shout.

  “Da’, it’s for you.” Milton’s childish utterance became as large as his father’s. “Police.”

  Berdie heard rapid footsteps and the distant sound of Edsel’s voice. “Butz here.”

  A perturbed Martha, tugging a delighted Duncan, entered the drawing room. “Milty gave him peanut butter.” Martha scrunched her nose. Little Duncan smiled brightly, peanut butter smudged on his upper lip.

  “Saints preserve us,” Ivy bawled. She swept the baby up and let out a long “Whew.” With a quick trot to the door, Ivy called to Berdie. “Mind you, that husband of mine is keeping something from me. I swear he is, and it’ll be something to do with that Donovan boy.”

  Berdie sat a few moments in the room and offered a prayer for both the Butzes and her husband’s success with dislodging the love-struck teenager from her domain. Then Berdie heard Hugh’s voice and went into the hallway, where he stood next to Edsel, who had his arm around Lucy’s shoulder. She certainly wasn’t cheerful, but her tear-stained face was calm. In her hand, she held a small pink suitcase, bits and bobs of rapidly packed clothing peeking out the sides.

  “Daddy and I are moving out,” Lucy stated in a matter-of-fact manner.

  “Now, love, we’re just staying in the flat above the shop till things are right way round.” The lines in Edsel’s face deepened. “Go on to the car, Lucy. Give me a moment with the vicar.”

  The young lady granted Hugh a tiny smile. “Thank you, Reverend Elliott.” She made her way out the door.

  “The police arrested Jamie, and the old Bill have him in Timsley.” Edsel spoke in a quite tone.

  “How did they find him?” Hugh asked.

  Edsel laid his finger aside his nose and tapped. “Goodnight told me Raheem phoned him from the train station in Timsley this morning. He spotted Jamie getting on a train bound for Holyhead.”

  “Mr. Raheem?” Berdie asked.

  “The police picked the lad up in Timsley then?” Hugh questioned.

  “No, Holyhead. They brought him back to Timsley and discovered he had a ferry ticket on him.”

  “Headed back home to Dublin.” Berdie verbalized what everyone obviously thought.

  Edsel shook his head. “I’ve got to get to Timsley. I don’t mean to be rude, but I really must go.”

  “Of course.” Hugh took Berdie’s arm.

  “Thanks again, for Lucy and all.” Edsel opened the door.

  The couple walked out into the winter afternoon and down the road.

  “Who commits a murder and goes to his family home?” Hugh scratched his head.

  “I’ll tell you who does if you tell me how you dislodged Lucy dear from her hunger strike.” Curiosity was not a hidden quality with Berdie.

  Hugh smiled. “I just pointed out that if we, in the collective sense, felt Jamie was innocent, her good person being locked away from the world wouldn’t help his cause. ‘Faith without works is dead.’” Hugh’s smile grew wide. “Now answer my question. Who murders then goes to his family home?”

  “Simply put, not a murderer. Someone frightened or confused goes home.”

  Hugh agreed. “I mean, if they caught him at Heathrow with a ticket for Brazil, well.”

  “Well indeed.” Berdie adjusted her tortoiseshell glasses and nodded.

  “Ah, now, moving on Mrs. Elliott, we have a funeral to plan and execute in the next forty-eight hours.” Hugh took Berdie’s hand and quickened the pace.

  ****

  “Another stock of lavender, and I believe we’ve got it.” Berdie’s voice carried across to the other end of the ample stone chapel, where Hugh stood looking out a graceful arched window. “Cara has been a brilliant help the past two days, despite her deep grief, with all the wreath crafting.” Berdie chose a large-bloomed stock. “I believe it is a lovely tribute to Miss Livingston, the lavender maven. It’s a pity she has no relatives remaining to see all this.” Berdie gazed about at the beautiful holiday wreaths of lavender that adorned the altar and decorated the ancient walls of Saint Aidan of the Wood Parish Church. She nestled the final stock into the huge aromatic spray of regal purple. “You know, her front garden is all English lavender, but I noticed her back garden is all French lavender. Cara said it was the French lavender that won the prize at last year’s Flower Festival.” Berdie became quiet.

  “What’s that, love?” Hugh piped.

  Berdie recognized a hint of concern in her husband’s voice. “The funeral flowers are all ready.”

  Hugh strode the length of the chapel, his heels sounding like a military regiment on the worn stone floor. In a moment, he was next to her.

  “Brilliant,” he offered with just a note of distraction.

  “Have you finished your sermon?”

  Hugh looked upon the flowers and felt a bloom with his fingertips. “My first funeral service, Berdie, and I’m eulogizing a murder victim. How do I explain the problem of an eighty-year-old woman being struck down by the hand of evil?”

  “I know you’ll do well, love. It will be a relief when we get all this settled, but you are so adept at staying the course and keeping your troops resolute in rough waters.”

  “I just row, but it’s the Lord who keeps the troops resolute.” Her husband popped a kiss on her cheek. “I’ll be finishing up in the sacristy.” A few steps and Hugh was upon the sacristy door. He opened it and solidly stepped inside.

  It’s been awhile since I fixed border cake for afternoon tea. I must do that sometime soon for Hugh.

  As she placed the spray near the front kneeling rail, she heard the chapel door slowly creak open, and hesitant steps sounded across the floor. “The funeral’s not for another four hours,” Berdie called out, not bothering to look.

  “I’m not here for ze funeral,” an odd voice with a foreign accent responded.

  Berdie turned to see a small man dressed in a light-colored blouson shirt with an open leather waistcoat that matched his weathered boots. His black brimmed hat shadowed his eyes but not his dark shoulder-length hair. He fumbled with a long iron box in his hand. “I’m here to see ze priest.”

  A handful of people huddled at the church door adorned in long coats, and some wee children poked their heads out from their mother’s wraps. When Berdie caught sight of them, they quietly closed the door.

  “I’m afraid Reverend Elliott is occupied at the moment,” Berdie asserted.

  “I’m here to see ze priest.” The man’s diminutive voice intensified. “I will see him now.”

  “But...” Berdie interjected.

  “I will ze him now!” he shouted. The peculiar character had become a raging giant.

  Berdie, quite taken aback, found her voice much louder than she intended. “Reverend Elliott is preparing
for a funeral.”

  The door to the sacristy flew open, and Hugh stepped out. “Berdie?” Hugh’s mellow tone rained calm upon the interaction. “May I be of assistance, sir?”

  The figure pushed past Berdie and sped straight to the sacristy, giving Hugh a quick nod. “We need ze privacy,” he quipped as he swept into the small room.

  Hugh gave Berdie a questioning glance then a reassuring nod and closed the door.

  Berdie was not about to leave the chapel even though she’d finished the floral duties. Who is that man, and what on earth could be so urgent? She sat down in a pew and opened the prayer book, a special edition prepared by the Northumbrian Community. Even though it was midmorning, she would do her noon prayers now, if she could concentrate well enough, that is.

  Not more than fifteen minutes later, the two men emerged from the cloistered meeting. Hugh and the stranger shook hands. Berdie closed the book and stood as the man whisked past her. She tried to read her husband’s face. It was the look he wore when contemplating his next tricky cribbage play. The chapel door closed hard.

  “Hugh? What—”

  “The funeral’s off,” Hugh blurted.

  Berdie reared in disbelief. “Off?”

  “A family development of sorts.”

  “But Miriam has no family. Hugh?”

  Berdie had seldom seen her husband at sixes and sevens, but it appeared he was at a loss now. “We need to get the word out quickly.”

  “I don’t understand.” Berdie’s words tumbled upon one another.

  “We’ve much to do in a short amount of time,” Hugh interrupted. “We need to call the villagers, those living most distant first. Notify the altar guild to cancel the food donations, alert those providing transport for the elderly, oh, and tell Peter George to stop digging. Explanations can wait, love.”

  “You’re not putting me off forever, Hugh Elliott,” Berdie assured her husband and sought out the congregational Rolodex. “As soon as things are well in hand, we’re having a word.”

  Three hours and forty-five minutes later, Lillie and Berdie sat in a back pew, ready to intercept any who may have slipped through the net, to advise them of the cancellation.

  Hugh opened the sacristy door. “Anyone show?”

  Just as Lillie shook her head no, the church door opened. Reverend Gerald Lewis held the door open and gaped across the empty church. “I guess the old thing wasn’t too well liked then,” he said to the two women in the pew.

  “Ah, Reverend Lewis,” Berdie greeted. It had never occurred to her to notify him.

  “Gerald, please come in,” Hugh invited. “Actually, the funeral has been canceled.”

  The reverend squeezed his narrow eyes and tipped his head. “Canceled?” His white collar contrasted with the look of consternation on his face. He entered and closed the door behind him. “Why, how does that happen?”

  Hugh clipped across the stone floor. “Just one of those odd things. As you know, Gerald, a man of the cloth cannot break confidences even in the most distressing situations.” Hugh spoke with a cheerful tone despite the fact he wrung his hands. “Taking tea is far more palatable than sorting out canceled funerals, wouldn’t you agree? Care to join us?”

  Before Reverend Lewis could respond, Dr. Meredith opened the church door, finely dressed in a respectful black suit. His smoky eyes perused the empty church then fell upon Lillie who quietly took Berdie’s hand and caught her breath.

  “Dr. Meredith!” Surprise rang in Berdie’s greeting.

  “Mrs. Elliott.” The pathologist acknowledged all with a quick nod, and entered the quiet sanctuary.

  “Hugh, this is Dr. Loren Meredith. Dr. Meredith, this is my husband, Hugh Elliott.”

  Hugh stepped forward and shook the doctor’s hand. “Dr. Meredith.”

  “And this is Reverend Lewis,” Berdie directed.

  “How do you do?” Dr. Meredith shook the clergyman’s hand.

  Berdie looked toward Lillie. “And of course you know—”

  “No, actually we didn’t really meet.” Dr. Meredith tipped his well-groomed head toward Lillie.

  “Oh right, this is Miss Lillie Foxworth.”

  The doctor and musician gazed at one another. All but a barn pot could sense there was enough electricity between them to light up London for a week.

  Finally the doctor spoke. “Delighted to finally meet you, Miss Foxworth.”

  “As am I you, Dr. Meredith.” Lillie’s demeanor crackled with static energy.

  “Are you here for the funeral?” Hugh inquired. “Because if so, I’m sorry it’s been canceled.”

  “Really?” The physician had an edge of surprise in his voice.

  “Reverend Elliott has just made it clear he’s not at liberty to address the issue, but we’re setting to on a holiday tea.” Lillie smiled generously with a spark in her eye. “I’m sure we’d all enjoy your company.”

  “Please do stay,” Berdie added with a glimpse toward her best friend.

  Dr. Meredith returned the smile. “Well, in that case how can I not?”

  In a matter of moments, the quintet made their way to the vicarage, with Berdie and Dr. Meredith lagging behind.

  “Mrs. Elliott,” Dr. Meredith spoke quietly.

  “Berdie, please.”

  “Berdie, about the spots you asked me to check on the victim’s back.”

  “Yes.” Berdie was so caught up with the day’s events she’d almost forgotten that this man held valuable information.

  “There were pressure marks indicating the candle wax in the bedroom was hardened when the body came to rest on top of it.”

  Berdie shook her head. “Thank you, Loren.”

  “The victim’s body has given me much more information I think you’ll find intriguing,” the doctor confided.

  “Dr. Meredith,” Lillie’s voice rang, “how was your drive from Timsley?”

  “Go ahead,” Berdie urged the pathologist. She acknowledged Lillie’s attempt to engage the gentleman in conversation.

  “We’ll talk later,” Loren offered and caught up with the amicable Lillie.

  Soon the troupe entered the library where books stood at rapt attention on the dark wooden shelves and light from the waning fire added warmth to brown leather armchairs. Upon an antique sideboard, a large Christmas tray held all the makings of a holiday afternoon tea. Berdie freshened the pot then poured the brew for each individual from the teapot that was adorned with the jolly Christmas robin. She handed a saucer holding a cup of hot refreshment to Reverend Lewis. Then she gave one to Dr. Meredith.

  “Do you usually attend the funerals of your victims, Doctor?” Berdie quipped.

  Reverend Gerald Lewis gurgled on a sip of the hot tea and coughed, jiggling his teacup. Some of the liquid toppled into the saucer and several droplets swished over the edge onto the gentleman’s trousers.

  “Oh, that didn’t come out right a’tall. I’m sorry,” Berdie offered as she adeptly grabbed a holiday serviette and dabbed at the wet pant leg.

  The visiting clergyman, quite sternly, snatched the linen from her hand and went forward with the cleanup.

  Dr. Meredith spoke up. “I assure you, Reverend, Mrs. Elliott knows they are victims not of my making. I just care for them once they’ve become someone else’s victim. You see, I’m the pathologist on the Lavender Cottage case.”

  “Yes, well said, that clears things up,” Hugh affirmed.

  But Reverend Lewis still tottered his teacup and seemed genuinely inhospitable.

  “And no, Mrs. Elliott, I don’t usually attend the funerals of my corpses, but I have”— the doctor’s eyes took a quick detour to Lillie then returned—“I have a special interest in this case.” He had a gentle curve upward at the edges of his mouth. “Don’t worry, Reverend Lewis, I’ll spare you the details of my professional workings.”

  The clergyman put aside the serviette. “Thank you for that, Doctor,” he said.

  As Berdie gave a full cup to her husband, Hugh chimed
in. “Indeed, we’ve an opportunity to retreat to the pleasure of a holiday table for tea.” He looked straight at Berdie. “Let’s leave the ordeal of today behind us and enjoy this moment.”

  “Here, here,” Lillie agreed.

  Hugh lifted his cup. “To Christmas tea with friends.”

  All lifted their cups in agreement and sipped.

  Berdie felt a tinge of uneasiness. What with the fuss resulting from asking an inappropriate question, and the doctor and Lillie trying to find their proper way with one another, it rather made for a taut dance.

  “Darling?” Hugh almost whispered.

  “Oh yes.” Berdie popped up and presented the platter laden with food goods. “Really, the women of the parish supplied our treats.” She beamed and held out the tray to Reverend Lewis, who helped himself to one of each. “Ginger biscuits baked by Mrs. White.” Berdie turned the tray to the doctor. “Chocolate truffles handmade by Mr. and Mrs. Turner, and Christmas kulich, still warm, from Mrs. Braunhoff’s oven.”

  “Delights.” The doctor took one of each, as did Hugh and Lillie.

  “Not quite enough butter in the kulich,” the visiting reverend commented while slowly chewing. “A touch heavy on the almandine.”

  “Um, I think it’s grand,” Lillie countered and lightly swept her lips for crumbs.

  “Indeed,” the doctor agreed, swallowing.

  “Yes, you would then.” Reverend Lewis lifted his chin with a sniff.

  “I say.” Hugh held a well-bitten truffle. “Well done to the Turners.”

  Berdie just popped a bit of ginger biscuit in her mouth when a very loud “Glorious Things of Thee Are Spoken” orchestrated from Reverend Lewis’s belt satchel. He nearly dropped his treats trying to reach the mobile phone inside.

  “Yes?” he rather growled then jumped up. “Excuse me. I’ll take this in the hall.”

  “I must be odd,” Berdie spoke. “All I have are bell tones for my mobile phone ring.”

  “You can download for a custom sound,” Dr. Meredith offered with a hint of chocolate on his lip. “I have Elgar as my tone.”

  “Yes.” Lillie smiled at the doctor. “My tone is his breathtaking ‘Nimrod.’ Doctor, did you know the London Chorus will be performing an Elgar concert in Timsley this Monday next?”