Candle for a Corpse

by Marilyn Leach

  “Cara,” Berdie called again.

  The young woman stopped, lifted her chin, and turned to acknowledge Berdie’s beckoning.

  “Oh, Mrs. Elliott, it’s you.” The girl found her voice when she realized it was Berdie. A sense of relief played across Cara’s face while at the same time she gripped her handbag fiercely. A single tear ran down the red cheek.

  Berdie was at the girl’s side. “I was just thinking a hot tea would go down well. Do you want to join us then?”

  Lillie discreetly handed Cara a fresh tissue.

  A humble nod of honey gold hair and a “Very much so” meant Berdie’s day had just taken an abrupt turn.

  The three women were the first customers of the day at the café straight cross from the surgery. They settled into a cozy wooden snug where high-back benches assured privacy. The tea was fresh although Berdie couldn’t say the same of poor Cara’s countenance.

  The distressed beauty looked at the table then into the women’s faces. “I’m in a difficult situation that should be a considerable joy.”

  “Yes, dear.” Berdie wasn’t entirely shocked after Cara’s display at the surgery.

  “But I wouldn’t have you think ill of me, Mrs. Elliott.”

  “Is Mathew aware of your difficult situation?” Berdie tried to be tactful.

  “Mathew?” Cara stared at her tea. “No.”

  “You must tell him. He’s entitled as your fiancé,” Lillie said quietly.

  Cara dabbed a tissue to her nose. “No, he’s not my fiancé. I don’t believe he ever was, really.”

  Berdie was pensive. “Then what are we talking about, Cara?”

  Cara opened her handbag and drew something out. She guarded it in her clenched hand like an unfathomable secret then laid it out, in the light of day, on the bare table. The glint of shine caught Berdie’s eye while it caught Lillie’s breath. It was a simple silver band.

  The young woman sighed as if an unbearable tempest was releasing its strength.

  “Thursday next, I’ll be married three months now.” Cara slipped the perfectly fitted band on her left ring finger. “I’m Mrs. Jamie Donovan.”

  A shockwave shot through Berdie like the alarm of an icy hand on bare flesh. She found it difficult to contain her amazement, but as the wife to Cara’s parish priest, she felt she must retain some professional bearing. But Lillie was completely unabashed.

  “My dear girl, however did that happen?” Lillie’s voice was three pitches higher than normal. “And why carry on with Mathew?”

  “It’s all a bit complicated.” Cara took a deep breath and looked at Berdie. “You deserve an explanation.” The girl took another deep breath, as if mustering courage. “I spent several summers at my aunt’s finishing school in Dublin.”

  “Yes.” Berdie remembered Mr. Graystone mentioning it Sunday in his office.

  “My first summer there I met Jamie on an evening river stroll. It was love’s first blush in the beginning, but five summers later, we were desperately in love. My aunt was horrified. My father determined to crush it, although he never met Jamie. But love’s star had set to glowing. In our innocence, we made a pledge to true love.” Cara went still.

  “A youthful oath is as disparate from the commitment of marriage as shoes in the store window are to the wearing of them.” Berdie sipped her tea.

  “Yes.” Cara shook her head. “My last summer in Dublin, I discovered Jamie had made a stupid mistake that spring. A brush with the law. His violation was joyriding. He was given several months’ imprisonment.”

  “Why ever for?” Berdie knew the punishment was harsh for the crime.

  “The auto belonged to a government official.”

  “Ah,” was all Berdie need say.

  “And so,” Cara continued, “I plundered his shame and imprudence by telling him his recklessness had ruined any chance for our future together. I am my father’s child.” Cara wiped the moisture at the corner of her eye. “I told him he needn’t bother with me until he had gotten things right way round, including a real career. The next day when I realized what I had done and tried for reconciliation, Jamie begged off. He was shattered. I had lost him forever.”

  “That’s when Mathew came into the picture.” Lillie added sugar to her cup.

  “My relationship with Mathew was an attempt to dull the pain. I see that now. My father thought Mathew and I were well suited. Mr. and Mrs. Reese encouraged the relationship, and poor Mathew worked so hard to please them, to win their affections.”

  “I should say that the pleasing them bit has changed.” Berdie thought of the argument he had with his mother and father at the Advent party.

  “He’s found his way to his own person. Going off to university certainly helped.” Cara stirred her tea. “His first summer home things were different with us. But it was easier to pretend all was well and just move through our lives.”

  “You appeared compatible,” Lillie added.

  “Didn’t we just.” Cara brought the teacup to her lips and took a swallow. “But I never stopped loving Jamie just as sure as Mathew grew into a new man.” Cara sat the cup down. “And then, by some gracious miracle and three years to grow up, Jamie was on my doorstep in September, hat in hand, offering a promising future as Edsel’s apprentice and a simple silver band.”

  Berdie tipped her head. “But why hide the marriage? Why the charade?”

  “My father would never accept Jamie as my husband. He forbade the very thought. But Jamie and I knew it to be right. We belonged together. So we married in secret with the hopes that my father would get to know Jamie in his own right and come to respect him.”

  “And?” Lillie asked.

  Cara just shook her head and took another sip. “I thought by now...” The bride looked at the ring.

  “Have you told anyone else about the marriage?” Berdie asked.

  “Mathew. He took it splendidly, and though he didn’t get on with Jamie, he agreed to the ruse. I just told my father this past Tuesday. That went horribly. And I also told Miriam—Miss Livingston.”

  “Miss Livingston!” Berdie was hearing the sound of trumpeting elephants. “Her response?”

  “I thought she’d be happy for me, but she cursed the day my father sent me to Dublin.” Cara’s eyes filled with wet hurt. “She said, ‘Heartache and despair are handmaids to marriage with Jamie.’” Quiet tears escaped and dripped from the young wife’s chin. “And then the party, and all this horrible...” Cara buried her face in her hands and cried.

  Berdie slipped closer to the woman and put her arm around her.

  Lillie was to the rescue with a tissue. “I’ll just get you a warm-up,” she said and took Cara’s cup to the counter.

  Cara’s gaze came back to Berdie. “Mrs. Elliott, help Jamie please.”

  Berdie nodded. “I must ask, Cara; did you lie to Goodnight about seeing a tall, light-haired man in the woods the day of the murder?”

  Cara swallowed. “Yes.”

  “To protect your husband.” Berdie squeezed Cara’s shoulder. “Natty said she saw someone that fit that description.”

  “Natty? You’ve got to clear Jamie,” Cara pleaded. “He’s innocent, I swear he’s innocent.”

  “Yes, Cara, yes.” Berdie was not only comforting Cara but also stating what she believed to be true. The word framed ran through her mind. But would public knowledge of the marriage help or hinder Jamie’s cause?

  “Now you must take care of yourself, despite all the difficulties,” Berdie exhorted.

  “These nine weeks I’ve had stomach upset, but the doctor said all seems to be developing normally.”

  “And Jamie knows?”

  “Yes. And he’s over the moon. At least he was until all this mess.”

  Lillie returned with the steaming cup. “You know, I think I saw Mathew standing cross the road.”

  “Mathew?” Cara wiped her face and stood to her feet. “He’s given me a ride, such a dear through all this. I must go. And please, M
rs. Elliott, clear my Jamie.”

  The young woman rushed out the door to Mathew.

  “Well.” Lillie looked as if she had been on the bumper cars at Blackpool. “Quite the revelation.”

  “Lillie,” Berdie asked, “how far is the Timsley Detention Center? I think it’s time to pay Jamie Donovan a visit.”

  ****

  When Berdie and Lillie entered the police station, Berdie made straight for the reception desk as Lillie gazed about, trying not to be too obvious that it was her first visit to the “old bill.”

  “May I help you ladies?” The young man behind the desk looked quite smart in his fresh uniform.

  “We’re here to visit James Donovan.” Berdie stood, shoulders back.

  “In what capacity do you wish to see the accused?” asked the young man. His monotone gave the hint that this greeting was probably memorized word for word from his training manual.

  Berdie hesitated. “As clergy.”

  Lillie’s eyes widened.

  “And this is my assistant.”

  The “assistant” awkwardly smiled and pushed the market bag on her shoulder to her back.

  “As quickly as possible, please?” Berdie added.

  The young man showed them toward the visitors’ room.

  The two women sat in uncomfortable chairs at a small steel table.

  “Well now, here we are,” Berdie quipped.

  “I can’t believe you told a policeman you were clergy,” Lillie whispered.

  “I didn’t. I said clergy as an answer to his question. I am the vicar’s wife, however, which clearly entitles me to visit parishioners wherever they may be.” Berdie leaned closely. “Besides, all the pastoral papers I edited and typed for Hugh in seminary, I could have a Master of Divinity myself.”

  The door swung open and the suspect was escorted into the room. Jamie expressed surprise when he saw Lillie and Berdie at the table. He nodded to the guard and sat down.

  “I didn’t expect to see you,” he said in a low voice.

  Berdie saw deep anguish in Jamie’s weary eyes. “Jamie, I’m here because I may be able to help you out of this mess, but you’ve got to tell me the truth. All of it.” Berdie spoke softly. “Lillie and I just spent the last hour with Cara. We happened to see her at the women’s surgery.”

  Jamie sat forward in his chair. “She’s OK?”

  “Mrs. Donovan is fine and everything’s developing normally,” Berdie replied.

  “So you know.” Jamie put his head in his hands. “I know this looks bad, Mrs. Elliott.” He lifted his head and sprawled his hands across the table. “We never—” He paused. “I didn’t touch Cara, in that way, until she was my bride. I love her, and she loves me.”

  “I understand that,” Berdie annunciated.

  Jamie’s jaw set. “I didn’t kill Miss Livingston. I was spittin’ angry, but I would never kill her. I swear.”

  The young man met Berdie’s gaze, as though searching for a reason to trust her. Instinctively, she grasped Jamie’s hand and gave it a quick squeeze.

  “The truth then,” Berdie said.

  The young man glanced at the guard on duty. “The day before Miss Livingston was killed, I had been working on her dodgy electric when Edsel called and asked me to attend another customer.” His whisper was nearly inaudible. “I excused myself and said the earliest I could come back was the next morning to finish the job. Miss Livingston told me she was doing the early shift at the holiday jumble sale, wouldn’t be home, and in the same breath demanded the work be done. So, as much as it chafed her, she gave me her spare key, said to come in and take care of the problem. I stopped on the way into work the next morning, near seven.” The young man swallowed. “The door was ajar. I knocked, but she didn’t answer, so I went in.” Jamie hesitated and wagged his head. “And the place was thrashed. I knew something was wrong. I heard a noise. ‘Miss Livingston,’ I called, but she didn’t answer. I went upstairs and looked into her bedroom. There she lay.” Jamie dropped his head. “I knew she was gone.” He shut and opened his dark eyes. He clenched his fist. “I panicked. Mrs. Elliott, once you’ve got a record, the ol’ bill never trusts you. Any trouble and you’re the first accused.” Jamie swallowed hard. “I didn’t want Cara to be alone with the baby, and me banged up, so I bolted. I just needed some time to think.”

  “Did anyone actually see you at the scene?” Berdie quizzed.

  “That Batty Natty woman maybe.”

  “Batty Natty.” Berdie remembered Natty telling Goodnight she had seen someone short and dark.

  “Have you tried telling the law the real story?” Berdie asked. “You’ve got to try, for everybody’s sake: Cara, the baby, and your own. You’ve got to take the chance they’ll believe you. And Jamie, God’s mercies are new every morning.”

  “But is the justice system’s?” A prolonged sigh left Jamie’s lips. “I came to Aidan Kirkwood to start over. I got a good job and married the only woman I’ve ever loved. Cara’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. For the first time in my entire existence, I saw my life going somewhere. Now I’m locked in here for something I didn’t do.”

  It was difficult to watch Jamie’s face contort and flush as he tried to hold back the tears.

  “Jamie, can you think of anyone who may want to frame you?” Berdie asked.

  Jamie shook his head. “Why would anyone want to do that?”

  “Just think. Who knew you had Miriam’s key?”

  The lad shrugged. “Edsel, Cara.” He paused. “Well the whole village practically.”

  “What?” Berdie bent forward.

  “I went late that Saturday night to the Upland Arms. Filled to the rafters. I had a pint with Mat Reese and Reverend Lewis. When I went up to order another round, I jammed my hand into my cash-carrying pocket and the key flung out, skipped across the floor, and landed on Dudley Horn’s shoe. When I retrieved it, I made some comment like, ‘Livingston would have my head if I lost it.’ The whole place broke into laughter. Seemed funny at the time. Now I wish I’d never seen that key.”

  Berdie took in every word.

  The lad shook his head. “The people I know here really seem to care. Edsel Butz, he knows about my marriage and has visited several times trying to help. Reverend Lewis as well, but what can they really do?”

  “Reverend Lewis?” Berdie’s territorial instinct flared.

  “He came just Tuesday with some scheme to help hire a private solicitor. What I really need is a miracle.”

  “That’s what we’ll ask for and that’s what we’ll work for, but you must start the process by telling the truth.”

  Jamie took Berdie in. She thought she saw a flicker of hope in those cheerless eyes. “Can you keep Cara’s name out of this, I mean as much as possible? I want to be a good husband, and I want to be a proper father for my child, Mrs. Elliott. Do you really think you can help me out of this mess?”

  “By God’s grace, I’ll do my best,” Berdie assured him.

  Jamie nodded.

  “She’s a brilliant investigator,” Lillie reinforced.

  “I’ll ask Hugh to come by. He’s a tower of strength that one.”

  Jamie let go a sigh deeper than Jacob’s well. Atlas was no longer holding the world on his shoulders. It fell and rolled into the capable hands of his “clergyman” sleuth.

  Berdie gave Jamie’s hand another squeeze.

  “Move your hand away from the prisoner,” the guard growled. “Visit’s over.”

  Lillie started. The prisoner stood and the guard nodded. “Tell Cara I love her.” With those words, Jamie was led from the room. Berdie and Lillie stood.

  “What now?” Lillie asked.

  Bernadine Elliott gave her determined answer. “I’m going to find the real killer.”

  11

  Getting errands done in Timsley took the rest of the afternoon, so visiting Mr. Raheem was postponed until the following day. Berdie and Lillie decided they would meet at Mr. Raheem’s shop Friday n
oon. Lillie’s morning was booked with teaching voice lessons, and Berdie promised Mrs. Braunhoff to help prepare the Nativity figures for the Christmas Eve service.

  That morning, the gray December clouds hung low with the burden of their contents as if waiting for the right moment to shower all of creation. Umbrella close by, Mrs. Braunhoff met Berdie at the aged outbuilding on the far back of the church property right near the woods.

  It took both women to force the down-at-heel door that opened to a dark, damp interior. The sturdy Mrs. Braunhoff wore her wool-lined denim work jacket and a dark headscarf that was tied neat as a pin at her chin.

  “Are you the official keeper of the Nativity?” Berdie asked.

  “My husband and I, yes.” She grinned.

  Barbara Braunhoff wielded a battery-operated torch about that flashed its way over a water-spotted Joseph, a very pale Mary, several muddy shepherds, and a sheep that had lost its tail altogether. It lighted on the crèche where a soft-smiling baby Jesus lay on His side.

  “First thing is to wash them up,” Mrs. Braunhoff explained. “We need to move the lot near the church, on the south terrace, where we can scour them and get them safe inside.”

  Berdie stood to the side as the woman lifted a water-spotted male by the waist. “It looks like our blessed Joseph was baptized by the heavenly waters themselves.”

  Both women espied the roof where a spot of daylight showed itself.

  “Mr. Braunhoff will see to that,” Barbara Braunhoff declared. The robust woman snuggled Joseph tightly on her hip. “An hour’s time and a lick of paint, my husband will have all tidy.” The woman shone her torch on the Mary figure. “Can you manage the virgin?” she asked Berdie.

  Berdie saw the figure was somewhat smaller. “I should think so, and the Baby as well.”

  Berdie cradled the baby Jesus in her arm and with the other arm pulled Mary close, grasping her by the elbow. “No newborn wants to be far from mum.” Berdie laughed as they stepped into the light of the back garden.