Candle for a Corpse

by Marilyn Leach

  Berdie went on. “Better cultivated, more time, more love, yet it was hidden in the back garden. Then there was her great love of music. Most of her music LPs were by French composers; in fact, Lillie noted that Miriam’s favorite was Ravel. Again, not notable in itself, yet she had only one English composer, Elgar. But what I couldn’t sort out was why hide her nationality? When we found this snap,” Berdie said, her head in the direction of the photo, “tucked up inside the Elgar album, the whole identity issue became complex and at the same moment more assured.”

  “Well, we’ve certainly made strides in uncovering that issue,” Hugh encouraged.

  “But there’s more, there’s more,” Berdie asserted.

  “Indeed there is,” Dr. Meredith agreed.

  “Our wet one’s drying,” Mrs. Oglesby announced. “I’ve found her some dry clothes. She’ll be out soon.”

  “Thank you for the lend.” Berdie was grateful. “We’ll send the clothes back by post.”

  “Not to worry, they’re hers.” Betty poured more tea. “I have something to ask ya.”

  “Something we can do?” Hugh said.

  She placed a tiny red enameled box by Hugh’s hand and opened it. “Seeds of her labor. I harvested her lavender when she were off. Tried my hand but it weren’t the same.” She fumbled one of the seeds. “A child needs somethin’ of the one gone.” She paused. “Could you see your way to plant these where she lay?”

  “Where she lay?” Berdie asked, hoping it didn’t mean what she supposed it did.

  “At her grave, like.”

  Berdie and Loren looked expectantly at Hugh.

  He thought for a moment, closed the lid, and put the tiny treasure in his pocket. “By God’s grace, I’ll move heaven and earth to grant your wish, Mrs. Oglesby.”

  “Right then.” The woman smiled.

  In the doorway, the “wet one” appeared. If it weren’t for the fact that Lillie had just experienced a most embarrassing and humiliating event, you’d think she had dressed for a stroll of a warm summer’s eve in Donostia. The full multi-tiered red skirt fell in gathers from her small waist. The white peasant-style blouse with full sleeves was laced with red ribbons. And a colorful-patterned scarf showed off her graceful neck. But it was her smile that made Lillie truly beautiful—it radiated all the grace and warmth the woman possessed. Berdie watched Loren Meredith soak in the glow of this incredible woman who turned disaster into a jolly good romp.

  “Time for a serenade then?” Lillie snapped her fingers in a castanet motion and made a little twirl. Even her damp, dark hair formed ringlets that invited a dance.

  “Bravo,” Dr. Meredith cheered and clapped.

  “The real applause of course goes to Mrs. Oglesby.” Lillie bowed to the farmer’s wife.

  Gone red, Betty just grinned and nervously flipped the hem of her pinny.

  “Wherever did you find such colorful clothes?” Berdie was curious since they were far too small to fit Mrs. Oglesby.

  “Four girls meant hand-me-downs,” Betty replied. “They were Miri’s, then my sister May’s, and so on, until I, number four, grew big enough to inherit them. But that’s the problem y’see.” She stretched both hands forward in front of her stomach. “I grew big.”

  Berdie had to smile.

  “As far as I can see, Mrs. Oglesby,” Hugh voiced, strong and sincere, “it was your hospitality that grew large. We can’t thank you enough for your kindness. We must move along then.”

  “Oh do take care for the sludge,” Betty offered.

  Hugh smiled. “Yes. And we’ll offer prayers for you and your family this week at Matins.”

  “Bless ya then,” Mrs. Oglesby said in a hoarse whisper.

  After farewells and best wishes, the foursome made their way to the road’s edge, the doctor carrying the delighted senorita to the car. In no time at all, they were on the road back to Nethpool House.

  In the backseat of the car, Loren spoke to Lillie. “When you said last evening Berdie’s adventures were full of surprises, it wasn’t far off the mark.”

  Lillie gave a wink and a smile.

  “Who knew I’d be returning from the escapade with a lovely Gypsy troubadour next to me?”

  When the hardworking detectives returned to Nethpool House, Hugh announced his plan to have a nice lie down then nestle into a good read. Berdie had every intention of joining in with her husband’s plan. Loren, by mobile, arranged tea for himself and Lillie at the quiet winter lodge in Nethpool’s west garden, a plan that delighted Lillie.

  Trying to scrape the dark mire from off their footwear at the front steps of Nethpool House was a chilly business. The warmth of the front hall felt like a beloved eiderdown had wrapped itself around them, and Mrs. Peach was at their call. In good humor, she demanded that they remove the muddy shoes and give them to her.

  “I shall get these shoes back to you in double time. And well polished,” she promised. “Now, you’ll need these.” She handed everyone a pair of fresh guest slippers that they handily fitted into.

  “Well, to the room then.” Hugh eyed Berdie.

  “Go on, love. I’m going to peruse the gift cove. I’ll be up presently.”

  “The Gypsy troubadour must return to her choirmaster attire.” Lillie was already on the stairway with Hugh right behind.

  Loren spoke to Berdie. “Actually, I’m glad we have a moment together—do you mind?” The doctor was keen.

  “What is it?” Berdie asked.

  Loren measured his words. “I prefer not to talk about my work when someone of particular interest is present.”

  “Ah, yes.” Berdie nodded her comprehension.

  “Somehow, talk of wounds and body scars can be off-putting. I trust you understand.” He continued. “And of course there is professional etiquette as well.”

  Berdie was pleased that Dr. Meredith considered her one with whom professional etiquette could be shared.

  “I thought you would be interested in Miss Livingston’s autopsy results, or should I say our female victim in the case. But first may I ask you a question?”

  “Yes.” Berdie was attentive.

  “I understand arson is suspected concerning the blaze at Lavender Cottage.”

  Berdie nodded her head.

  “Do you think it was intended toward you?” Loren came right to it.

  “One always wonders, but I would say no, it wasn’t an intention toward me or Lillie.” Berdie knew where his concern really lay. “It was the night before that Goodnight assigned the duty of the clear out to Hugh, who gave it to me. Up until that point, I had avoided investigating the affair, by my husband’s coaxing, of course.”

  “I see.”

  Berdie could see the concern of Loren Meredith’s brow ease.

  “Now, moving on, about the autopsy.” The doctor spoke eagerly, in a discreet volume. “I discovered several things of interest. First, concerning her demise, it was a swift passing, no signs of struggle. She had a widely used prescriptive sleeping aid in her bloodstream. Mind you, it was a bit more than required for a woman of her stature, but nothing abusive. Her singular fatal wound was one swift blow done with military precision.”

  “Are you saying the perpetrator has a military background?” Berdie took in the information.

  “Well-trained skill, at any rate. They placed one blow at an exact angle to cause death.”

  “Go on,” Berdie urged.

  “The facial scars.”

  “Ah yes, from a childhood disease,” Berdie recalled.

  “Is that what she told people? No, they were burns—small circular burns. Well scarred over, as they occurred decades ago.”

  “Oh my, poor dear.” Berdie was processing the information.

  “There was also scar tissue on her lower right arm. I would say our victim attempted to remove a tattoo.”

  “Miriam always wore long sleeves. That explains that then.”

  “Perhaps this information will help put you on the scent.” Loren Meredith c
ontinued, confiding, “I haven’t much faith in Goodnight.”

  “Quite frankly, Doctor Meredith, I shouldn’t think Constable Goodnight could catch a Christmas snowflake with an upturned umbrella.”

  Mr. Peach approached the pair. “Tea’s on, Dr. Meredith. Miss Foxworth rang to say she would be down presently.” The host grinned. “The winter lodge is quite charming. There’s a cozy hearth with a well-tended fire. You’ll find the gracious overstuffed chairs have removable cushions if you fancy sitting on the rug in front of the fireplace. We also have a wide collection of CDs, and the view over the west garden runs all the way down the valley. Mrs. Peach has laid a marvelous winter tea that includes fondue. You’ll have to share the pot, of course, with your fine lady.” Mr. Peach winked. “I think you’ll find the lodge comfortable and well-suited for a twosome tea.”

  “Grand,” the doctor tendered only one word, but the anticipation and delight in his eyes spoke volumes.

  “Well, I’ll just excuse myself.” Berdie smiled at him. “And thank you, Dr. Meredith, for the information.” She laid her finger aside her head. “Collected and stored.” Her eyes twinkled. “And enjoy tea with your person of interest. I know she certainly will.”

  With that, Berdie entered the gift cove. What a golden opportunity for Lillie and Loren to share uninterrupted time together and grow in appreciation and understanding of one another. She prayed the best for her dear friend and the wonderful new man in her life.

  After a quick look at local handcrafted work in the Nethpool House gift cove, Berdie moved on in her thoughts and up the stairwell. With the update of Miriam’s identity and fresh details from Dr. Meredith, along with renewed vitality, Berdie’s brain buzzed, her investigator’s nose twitched, and her sleuthing of the case was in full swing.

  10

  The train ride back to Aidan Kirkwood seemed to take far less time than going. But then Berdie often thought that was the way when returning from a holiday, even a working holiday. Hugh promised that he would contact Sergeant Major Andrew Busby, still working in the intelligence community, to search out more delicate historical information concerning Miri. As for Lillie, it seemed she still hadn’t awakened from her dream.

  The Timsley train station hummed, tooted, and clanged with rush hour arrivals and departures. More and more urbanites were opting to up-sticks and move to rural areas, living with arduous commutes. The Timsley train station was a testament to that fact.

  Disembarking was a mad rush, but Hugh blazed a trail, with Berdie and Lillie in his wake.

  In the central station, shops were lively and the cafés were deceptively inviting. Lillie stopped, jolted back to everyday life, and stood near the entrance of The Daily Grind.

  “I could go a hot cuppa,” Lillie suggested when her suitcase was bumped by a fast-paced gentleman.

  Hugh and Berdie paused, bags in hand.

  “I’ve found these station cafés offer a fine grade of motor oil and call it tea.” Hugh was not interested.

  Berdie glanced through a large sheet of glass to the space inside. “It’s quite crowded that.” She peered at a corner table where she saw three men seated together. She pressed her head forward. “Isn’t that Preston Graystone?”

  Lillie strained to peek. “Yes, and with him is Reverend Lewis, I believe.”

  Berdie could see Mathew Reese’s profile clearly. “What is Mathew doing here? Is it Christmas break at university already?”

  “It’s Wednesday...maybe a long weekend?” Both women stood in puzzlement.

  “What an odd lot,” Lillie observed.

  “Isn’t it just,” Berdie agreed.

  “Ladies, we haven’t time for tea or speculation.” Hugh was nearly assaulted by a woman using her mobile phone who lunged for the restaurant entryway. “I don’t fancy being late to my New Believers’ class.” Hugh turned and pushed on, waving Berdie and Lillie to follow.

  “We better keep up.” Berdie pulled herself away from the glass and took Lillie’s hand. “Or we could be thrashed forever in the sea of modern civilization. I’ll fix a nice cup at home.” But Berdie wasn’t intent on tea while she stored a mental snapshot of the peculiar gathering in The Daily Grind.

  Hugh made his New Believers’ class with time to spare while Berdie and Lillie formulated plans to meet the next morning to sort their to-do lists, which had grown over the holiday. Since Hugh needed the vehicle for calls, the women opted for the coach to Timsley in the morning.

  ****

  Though Berdie truly enjoyed her holiday, she appreciated the comfort of her own bed. The December air made her glad to board the toasty warm coach. The public transport into Timsley was direct, timely, and certainly adequate.

  Lillie chose a seat next to a window and Berdie took the aisle seat next to her. The coach came to its regular stop just down from Mr. Raheem’s shop to accept waiting riders.

  “Oh my, what’s going on?” Lillie viewed the produce store out her window. “Half the village is at the greengrocers.”

  Berdie bent forward to see. “It’s Thursday. Whatever is the draw?”

  “Mrs. Elliott, Miss Foxworth, oh my, you’re missing it.” Mrs. Plinkerton, who had just boarded the vehicle, sank into the seat cross the aisle, holding a large market bag of produce. She spoke as the vehicle lurched forward on its route. “I must say, why ever didn’t you come? Oh yes, you’ve been away. Right.” The woman continued. “Mr. Raheem is giving a wee basket of nuts and assorted dried fruit to everyone who buys five pounds of produce.” The woman held up a tiny straw basket with the goods enclosed and a bright red bow tied to the handle. Mrs. Plinkerton looked quite smart in her Sunday hat and fur-collared coat. “It’s to celebrate your well-being, you know.”

  “My what?” Berdie blinked.

  “Your rescue,” the woman puffed. “It’s a bit of a do to celebrate Mr. Raheem’s rescue of you both—oh, and Lila Butz—from that wretched fire. Isn’t he ever so clever?”

  Lillie stared at the woman. “We weren’t aware.”

  “Of course you weren’t, darling, off on holiday. No, the whole village is very proud of Mr. Raheem, you know. Quite frankly, I hadn’t been to the shop since it was taken over by the gentleman. But I daresay he has certainly proved himself.” She dipped her chin as if making her point perfectly clear. “And isn’t it the cutest little basket?” Mrs. Plinkerton patted the item and replaced it in her market bag. She pushed the bell signal to alert the driver to halt at the next drop-off. “Here’s my stop.” The well-coiffed lady rose to her feet. “Do take in his little market later. I think you’ll find it quite tidy. Cheerio, then.”

  “See you at church Sunday?” Berdie called after the exiting woman.

  “Well,” Lillie breathed.

  “On our return home, I believe a stop at the greengrocer is in order,” Berdie offered.

  “Following our nose are we?”

  Berdie smiled. “Well, it’s not every day one is so boldly rescued.”

  The ride to Timsley went quickly. The coach traveled the road several kilometers, making occasional halts at the indicated coach stops, picking up and depositing the riders.

  In Timsley proper, Berdie and Lillie disembarked at the newly opened women’s surgery.

  Berdie took in the new large structure. “I must say, National Health has splashed out on this one. I read the specialty here is in pre- and post-natal care. Now remind me, what is it we’re doing here?”

  “Making a delivery,” Lillie quipped.

  “Well, it certainly isn’t mine,” Berdie joked.

  Lillie laughed. “I should have gotten this sheet music to Dr. Avery last week. She’s new to the choir, well...new to the church for that matter...wonderful mezzo you know.”

  “Good. Get her connected.”

  “Speaking of connected.” Lillie pulled the folder of sheet music from her market bag. “I think I’ve sorted what the three men were doing together at The Daily Grind yesterday.”

  “Have you then? Well, let’s hear
it.” Berdie was attentive.

  She walked behind Lillie as they entered the automatic doors into the lobby.

  “They were planning Mathew and Cara’s wedding. Graystone was consulting with Reverend Lewis on procedural matters and they met Mathew, just in from school, at the train station.” Lillie looked pleased with herself.

  “One vital element is missing, dear Watson. The bride.”

  “I’ve thought of that. She’s sick, remember? Preston told us Sunday she had a flu bug.” Lillie looked delighted to demonstrate her reasonability.

  “Granted, but flu or not, can you imagine Cara Graystone to be the kind of woman who would let three men plan even a hair’s breadth of her wedding?”

  Lillie stopped and looked at Berdie. “About the same chance as you not flying to the nut of the matter like a homing pigeon.”

  The lobby held several women, many of whom were obviously with child. Wee ones played in a reading corner designed for the very purpose of entertaining them. How many books had she read to her own Nick and Clare when they were small?

  Berdie followed Lillie to the receiving desk where an energetic young woman managed chaotic reception duties with a smile and amazing success.

  “I’m here to give this to Dr. Avery. It’s a folder of sheet music,” Lillie informed.

  “You must be Miss Foxworth, the choirmaster. Dr. Avery will be very pleased to get this. She’s been expecting it.”

  Amongst the din of children playing and mothers in conversation, the sound of a woman sobbing came to Berdie’s ear. It seemed dire, and she wondered what grief or difficulty stirred the person to such sadness. She turned round just in time to see a young woman with honey-colored hair and a pleasing figure step from the doorway of a doctor’s office.

  “Is that...” Berdie stopped.

  “I should say. Divine timing.” Lillie took in the woman.

  Cara Graystone held a tissue to her nose then lifted it to wipe her eyes. She stepped forward. Several eyes peaked over the tops of magazines.

  “Cara?” Berdie heard herself say it in a quiet tone.

  The village beauty came up short at the sound of her name. She closed her eyes as if trying to escape the recognition of her person. Slowly she reopened them, cleared her throat, and wiped her wet cheeks. Without any acknowledgement to Berdie, Cara moved forward to the automatic door.