His thick French accent required Berdie’s full concentration.
“We are ze family of my father’s father, Bavol Nav.” The man looked at the ground. “We are now, for a time, ze impure.”
“I see.” Berdie was respectful. “In my faith we’re taught to love all, impure or clean. I have no reason not to talk to you if you are willing to talk to me, for the good of everyone.”
The man studied Berdie’s face as though searching for the sincerity she offered. “What do you want from us?”
“Bavol Nav was the victim?”
Drawing his head back quickly, the Roma eyes narrowed. “We never speak of death—it brings evil.”
Berdie thought for a moment. “I see, so let’s speak of life,” she offered. “Tell me about your grandfather’s life.”
“I’m sure your relative was dear to you, tres cher, no?” Lillie’s voice was tender.
The man cast his eyes about to be sure no one watched. “My grandfather is an old man, but a man of courage. He and his horse, long ago, save many people. He is a man of strength, of promises to keep.”
“He sent you to retrieve Miri, didn’t he?” Berdie nodded. “The obits, Miri subscribed him to our little paper.”
“Promises to keep,” the man repeated.
“She was a relative, famille?” Lillie asked what Berdie hoped to know.
“La cousine au mon grand-pere.”
“Miri was his grandfather’s cousin,” Lillie translated.
The wanderer’s eyes became steeled. “We honor her, as is our custom, just as we honor my grandfather in ze soil of our country.”
“France,” Lillie confirmed.
Having sorted the identity issue, Berdie proceeded to question events around the murders themselves. “Who would want to kill Miri and your grandfather?”
“No one.” The man frowned.
“Have you noticed anyone unusual around the green or in the woods, anyone that appeared edgy or suspicious looking?”
The gentleman’s square chin tightened. “Unusual, suspicious? Zat’s ze way I and my people are seen by your people.”
He lifted his chin, his eyes coming to rest on Chief Inspector Kent, who trumpeted across the lea. “Mrs. Elliott!”
The Roma’s face skewed, his nostrils enlarged as his lips pulled downward, watching the law enforcer cross the turf. He spat on the ground.
“Tell ze priest I give to him la circle d’Avent.” He pulled open the trailer door and disappeared inside, slamming it behind him with such force, the small caravan shook.
Along with the arrival of the Scotland Yard officer at her side, Berdie felt the gentle tap of rain droplets, announcing the need to soon seek cover.
“Goodnight says he has the murder case over there stitched up tighter than his trousers after Christmas lunch.”
Berdie pursed her lips. “But he has the trousers on the wrong man.”
“Humph.”
Berdie watched Kent’s gaze go off to the wood as if he looked at it but saw something else in his own mind. He came squarely back to her. “Goodnight’s a bulldog about his patch. I should think you need to watch yourself. But if for some reason—”
“I’ll keep you informed,” Berdie assured.
“And if you really do know this vicar, tell him to ring me right away.” The lawman tipped his head in politeness. “Well then ladies, time you two move along. Have a safe journey.”
By the time she and Lillie were at the car, the rain began to steadily descend upon the green, sending the two promptly on the road. But this time the Citroën moved at a more cautious pace. Berdie turned the windshield wipers to a steady quick rhythm.
“It’s all adding up, isn’t it?” Lillie observed. “The picture that led us to Northumbria, that then led us to the Roma heritage, that now has brought us to the caravan camp. But why kill an old man? How does he play in?”
“The perpetrator needs something, Lillie, is searching for something they believed was in Miss Livingston’s ownership, and then somehow connected it to this fellow.”
“What would an aging Roma have that someone would want or need?”
Berdie was having more difficulty seeing clearly as the rain intensified. “What do aging people, in general, have that’s valuable?”
Lillie thought for a moment. “Generally? Wisdom.”
“And experience,” Berdie added. “They both had knowledge of someone, something, and that information was stored, secreted, by use of a material object as is obvious from the search through both Bavol Nav’s and Miss Livingston’s personal goods. That’s my take.”
“How do you know Mr. Nav’s goods were gone through?”
“Did you see Inspector Kent’s reaction when I said the victim’s home was upended, along with the other characteristics I see as the M.O. of the murderer?”
Lillie’s eyes brightened with understanding. “That’s when he had the constable call Goodnight. So, what you’re saying is that the murderer was aware of Miriam’s background when no one else was. But how and why?”
“That’s what we need to figure out, my dear. And I believe we’re getting closer.”
The rain now descended in sheets.
“Betty Oglesby told us of a stranger that rode into the Livingston farm on a buggy, spoke to Miss Livingston, and left as quickly as he came. I should say that was likely Bavol Nav, coming to warn her off. Yes, I daresay. Their lives touched there, and we know they must have been together earlier, being in the same family, and I should say the same camp.”
“So do you think this Mr. Nav was involved in the French War Resistance?”
“The Roma hold family very, very dear so it’s quite likely, simply by association if nothing else.”
“So Miss Livingston’s name was Miri Nav?”
“Oh, didn’t I tell you? Her married name was Miri Avent.”
Lillie’s eyes sparked with a twinkle of her own. “Avent is how you say advent in French.”
“Is it now?” Berdie’s mind clicked with such ferocity she just managed to steer the car.
“The Advent wreath.” Lillie nodded. “You suspected from the start that it held something important. Oh yes, the Gypsy fellow, back there, he told us to give the Advent wreath to the priest.”
“Yes he did.” Berdie became conscious of the fact her acceleration increased with her intrigue. “My dear wonderful husband is now inexplicitly tied into solving this case, Lillie.” Berdie glanced in her rearview mirror to spot an approaching large dark car through the rivulets of water coursing down the back windscreen. “We’re a hair’s breath away from putting this case in the done file my dear Lil—”
Berdie felt the blood drain from her face.
“What?” Lillie questioned.
“Oh dear,” Berdie almost screamed, “brace yourself, Lillie!”
At the same moment the words left Berdie’s mouth, a thunderous crash assaulted the little Citroën from behind, sending it into a headlong skid that all but sent it off the road.
Berdie gripped the steering wheel. She held fast with every ounce of strength she had to stay in the lane.
“What’s happening?” Lillie screamed, crouching to keep her body low.
“Pray and hold on tight,” Berdie yelled. She barely caught sight of the luxury black sedan sweep up to the back corner on the driver’s side of the Citroën. The swift-moving car slammed into the side of the Citroën, sending the little auto spiraling across the drenched road. With an abrupt twist, it flew across the lane, skidded off the pavement, jostled and jumped through a shallow ditch, soared over a half breach in the hedgerow, and came to rest in an open rain-soaked lea only inches from two very startled sheep.
Even though Berdie sensed her body adrenalin carrying out its God-given purpose in a matter such as this, her consciousness grew dim until the world went completely black.
****
Berdie tried to rouse herself when she thought she heard someone shouting. She had no idea how much time had pas
sed since they had made their safe landing.
“Mrs. Elliott, are you all right?”
The voice was accompanied by a heavy knock to her window.
“Mrs. Elliott, can you hear me?”
Berdie willed her eyes open where the light of the gray stormy afternoon brought back the awareness of what had occurred. She felt one stubborn ear wire of her glasses clinging on for dear life and managed the glasses back in their proper spot. She turned her head toward the rain-covered window to see a bright yellow McIntosh, the hood of it encircling a man’s face.
“She’s conscious,” he said and turned away. “Get the first-aid kit, Gustava. She has a passenger.”
Berdie tried to make out the details of the man’s face. She opened the window, breathed in, and met with splashes of heavenly outpouring. “Dr. Meredith?”
Loren Meredith gently put his hand on her head and leaned closely. “You’ve got a small cut on your forehead, Berdie, but it’s going to be fine I should think. Are you hurt otherwise?”
“Lillie!” Berdie remembered what had happened. The doctor left the window and moved to the other side of the car.
“Berdie?” Lillie was almost inaudible.
Berdie could see the tiny slits that were Lillie’s eyes trying to open.
“Are we in heaven?” Lillie mumbled. “Oh,” she said with twilight sleep delight, glimpsing the view out her window. “I always said heaven would look like the English countryside.”
“Look closer my dear. I should say heaven doesn’t look like the interior of a purple Citroën.” Even though it hurt a bit, Berdie couldn’t help but chuckle.
Lillie’s eyes were now open but heavy-lidded. “Where are we then?”
Suddenly, the passenger-side door flew open, and Berdie saw Lillie’s eyelids now flutter against the frosty wetness.
“Lillie, love, are you OK?” Doctor Meredith ran his hand along her cheek.
“Loren?” Lillie looked into the face of her rain-soaked rescuer, professional yet obviously alarmed with concern. “Loren!”
The doctor took her hand. “I’m here and I’m not going anywhere. Tell me what hurts, Lillie.”
“Well...” She tried moving. “Everything.”
“I daresay you’ve sustained manifold bumps and bruises, despite fastened seat belts. Gustava has gone back to the van to get the first-aid kit. Do stay calm.” His voice roared against the torrential rain. “It’s going to take some work to get your door open, Berdie, but help should be arriving shortly.” He put his arm across the back of the car seat in which Lillie sat. “The Lord was surely looking after you two.”
Berdie asked the inevitable question. “How is it you’re here, Doctor?”
“Actually, we saw the whole thing happen, from a distance mind you.”
“We?” Berdie asked.
“Gustava Andres, my assistant, and I were on our way to a stand-in call for an investigation in Mistcome Greene.”
Berdie felt a twitch of pain in her right thigh. “Did you see the car, the plate? Did you see a face?”
“I’m afraid not. Between the curtains of rain and trying to keep our vehicle aright to avoid our own misfortune, the only thing I can tell you is that it was a black sedan.”
Dr. Meredith pulled back and looked across the lea to the road. Berdie recognized the ee-ou of approaching emergency vehicles.
“Excellent,” the doctor pronounced. “Quick response time.” Loren Meredith bent close to Lillie. “My darling, if you didn’t want to keep our dinner date this evening, you could have done something less drastic you know.”
Lillie laid her head back and smiled. “Now who’s worming out? Hospital cafeteria, Doctor, eight o’clock sharp.”
Dr. Meredith squeezed her hand. “Right. We’re getting you two to the ED.”
13
Berdie repositioned the sturdy bed table, waiting for Hugh’s promised surprise. Poor Hugh, he really was doing his best to take care of her, but she almost wished he wouldn’t try so hard. He felt guilty, and she knew it. She tried to assuage his sense of having put her right in it, but it was to no avail. At least it was Sunday morning, and he would depart soon for the church where he could devote his energies to the flock and she could have a moment to herself. It was imperative she call Edsel Butz to come repair the still-defiant dishwasher, but on the QT. She didn’t fancy adding letdown to Hugh’s already active feelings of remorse.
Berdie heard her husband’s footsteps on the stairway. He arrived in the bedroom with a fresh tray of tea and scones, the morning paper folded neatly on the side. She smiled to see him in his collar. He would be feeding spiritual food to his parishioners in a matter of moments, adorned in his vestments. But for now, he was wearing her holiday pinny with little Christmas robins frolicking about on it. He poured her a cup of tea from the holiday teapot.
“Careful, quite hot,” Hugh cautioned. “Now here’s your favorite. Devonshire cream and strawberry jam for your fresh-from-the-oven scones.” He presented the feast before her on the bed table.
Berdie observed the little breads that looked rather more like scorched Frisbees. “Thank you.”
“Well, tuck in then.” Hugh shifted his weight.
After twenty-some odd years of marriage, Berdie sensed her husband had something on his mind. She took his hand. “Hugh?”
Hugh released a long exhale, sat on the bed’s edge, and looked keenly into her face. Sure enough, there went his rascally eyebrow.
“I thought perhaps we’d talk later, but I see the opportunity is at hand.” He paused. “I’ll come right to it then. First, no caroling for you tonight,” he stated flatly, “and second, I don’t want you to work on this case anymore. It’s just far too dangerous.”
“What’s far too dangerous, Hugh Elliott, is some mad person is in our midst wreaking havoc. They think they can bully us into leaving off, and I won’t have it.”
“And must you be the one who stops this madman?” Hugh almost scolded.
Berdie squeezed her husband’s hand. “No, I don’t have to be the one who stops him. I’m just saying that I, by God’s grace, may be well-equipped, if you please, to get at the bottom of the matter and bring it to a vigorous halt.”
Hugh looked stern. “When Loren told me what he witnessed of the accident, a shiver ran over my spine. Someone purposely forced you off the road.” He clenched his jaw.
Even in the pinny, none of Hugh’s masculine strength and fortitude was in any way diminished. “We can talk about this later,” Berdie offered.
“No we shan’t. It’s not on, Berdie, and the door to discussion is closed.” Hugh stood up military straight. “Now, Mr. Braunhoff has agreed to stand watch in the sitting room while I’m at church.”
Berdie gaped. “What?”
“You need to rest, Berdie, and he’ll intercept visitors.” Hugh lifted his chin. “Now, come, enjoy your scones.”
Hugh kissed her on the forehead, staunchly turned, and left the room. Berdie stared after him. “My dear, wonderful, overprotective husband, a babysitter and all.” Berdie folded her arms. “Mr. Braunhoff indeed! And that door to discussion, my love, is soon to come unhinged!”
****
Berdie awoke with the Monday morning light. It was near cloudless and full of the December sun.
Hugh slumbered on at her side, and she seized the opportunity to arise and make her way into the kitchen. It did take concerted effort to navigate the stairs what with the large bruise on her thigh and stiff aches all around, but she was sure if she had another day of being bedfast she would go mad. The rest however had afforded her the time to think through the possibilities of entrapping Miss Livingston’s murderer in a snare so clever they would never see it coming. She also made contact with Edsel, who promised to come tame the mad dish machine this week on an off moment.
But presently she had an overwhelming need for a cup of breakfast tea. Scarcely did she put the kettle on when the phone rang. Berdie tried to move swiftly so the ring wouldn�
�t awake Hugh. Monday was his day off, if clergymen ever really have a day off, and she didn’t want him disturbed.
It was one of the Darbyshire twins, Rosalie, expressing their regret that she and her sister, Roberta, would not be able to assist or do extra computer work at the sacristy today due to business elsewhere. On two Mondays a month, the twins performed their services that were deeply appreciated. But Berdie saw their absence today as a Godsend.
“I shouldn’t think it’s a problem, Miss Darbyshire,” Berdie assured.
“Right then. Well, have a speedy recovery.” The twin hung up.
Speedy indeed, Berdie thought to herself after the conversation ended. She ascended the stairs to don her old work trousers and a dust pinny.
Dressed, morning prayers finished, and muesli with tea to the fill, Berdie made her way to the church with her husband’s approval, especially when Lillie agreed to come help. The like-injured friend felt the need as well to escape her flat. Dear Dr. Meredith had hired an off-duty policeman from Timsley to watch over his beloved. He’d have kept watch himself except for the appearance of impropriety and his incredulous work schedule.
Although a large plainclothes policeman sat rather uncomfortably on a pew in the nave, Berdie and Lillie entered the sacristy as if going on holiday.
“Isn’t Mr. Finn rather foreboding?” Lillie half chuckled.
Berdie peeked her head out the room’s door to inspect the human protector. “Indeed.” She pulled the door half shut and reached for a feather duster while placing a bottle of wood soap in Lillie’s hand. “I also think it’s frightfully silly.”
Lillie embraced the cleaner container and looked a bit dreamy eyed. “Well I think it’s quite romantic. Rather gallant of Dr. Meredith, really.”
“See here Gweneviere, give a hand to the tidying up,” Berdie prodded.
The sacristy was not large, thus enhancing coziness. The cream color of the walls possessed a soothing sense of calm, much like the vicar who spent many hours within them. Several framed paintings retold ancient stories of faith, and an oak wood surround framed the fireplace hearth that beckoned one to stand close, giving chase the chill of winter. The two overstuffed chairs, along with a properly placed console table, an elegant floor lamp, and ample bookshelves, complemented the aged oak vicar’s desk. Atop the structure were stacked folders, an inherited pen rest, a cut glass dish of simple paper clips, the church telephone, and framed pictures of the Elliott children. All was neat as a pin such as befitted a man of military bearing.
Candle for a Corpse Page 17
