Candle for a Corpse

by Marilyn Leach

  Berdie clucked. “Who would have thought we’d relish cleaning the sacristy as though having lunch in the garden?” She fluffed the duster across the tops and spines of several books.

  “I must admit that my home, lovely as it is, seems to have dwarfed in size.” Lillie dabbed some polish on the wooden shelves of the bookcase followed by long sweeps with a soft cloth. “I wish the murderer would be found out and locked up at the earliest possible moment.”

  “Agreed,” Berdie piped and made a large swipe.

  “So.” Lillie wore an impish grin. “I’m counting on you to get it sorted, confined to quarters or not.”

  “Well, dear,” Berdie moved her duster along, “we’ve ruled out Mr. Raheem. Although...” She stopped in thought and gave the cleaning tool a couple gentle taps on her hand. “I still need the answer to a very important question from our greengrocer. Yes, I must call him this afternoon.”

  “And what is that simple question?”

  “When he left Miss Livingston at her home, did he notice anything odd?”

  “Ah-ha.” Lillie nodded. She moved along to the console table. “Could you clarify why I should be convinced of Jamie’s innocence?”

  Berdie ran her finger round the lampshade’s top rim. The cleaner brushed the shade vigorously, sending a dust plume into the air.

  “Several things point to his innocence. First, Miss Livingston’s murder was very methodic, well planned and well executed: electricity off, laying hold of the key, one quick and accurate blow, a detailed search with no stone unturned and, to boot, a perfect frame.” Berdie felt her nose tickle. “Now Jamie, motivated into action because of a dispute with Miriam about his cherished Cara, that would be the reaction of a young man from the streets, an act of passion, a momentary rage that would result in a pummeling with repeated aggression and with no interest in tearing the place apart after.” Berdie swatted at the dust in the air.

  Lillie fanned the air as well. “Sounds about right.”

  “And,” Berdie continued, “all that evidence pointing to Jamie was too perfect. Is it likely a killer would leave the murder weapon at the scene and not try to dispose of it?” Berdie moved to the mantel and gave it a quick whisk. “Would they drive a vehicle to the scene that identifies who they are simply by shear racket of the thing? Would they commit an atrocity at the very place where they are presently carrying on their work?” She whisked the mantelpiece adeptly. “And would a slayer of life run to his childhood home to be with his father?”

  Lillie fluffed a needlework pillow that sat on the welcoming chair. “Then the real villain tried to put the whole affair at Jamie’s door.”

  “I should say!” Berdie paused. “Jamie was living his dream, though presently incognito. A good job, the love of his life, a family on the way; he wouldn’t intentionally destroy all that.”

  Lillie generously doused the mantel with wood soap, swirling it into cleaning action. “He said as much when we visited him.”

  “I daresay.” Berdie lowered her voice. “I daresay whoever did in Miss Livingston was at the first Advent party right in my home mind you.”

  Lillie all but screamed. “I’ve often wondered that!”

  “Shh,” Berdie cautioned, “for the sake of the parish keep your voice down.”

  A red wad of hair followed by a chiseled stern face popped round the sacristy door. “Everything all right here?”

  “Oh.” Lillie went pink. “Yes, of course, my friend just gave me a surprise.” She looked keenly at Berdie and back to the security guardsman. “With some parish news. Yes, well, more like parish gossip I should say.”

  Berdie frowned.

  “Well, not really parish gossip as such,” Lillie finished.

  The guardsman nodded. “I’m just here”—he jerked his head toward the pews—“if you need me.” He left the doorway.

  Lillie started to name off the guests of that fateful evening, “Preston Graystone.”

  Berdie shared her skillful thoughts. “He certainly had a motive. His loathing of Miss Livingston for ruining, as he put it, his daughter’s life was substantial. Though in the current picture of things, he had no apparent means.”

  Lillie sat at the edge of the overstuffed chair. “Cara?”

  Berdie dusted a painting of a repentant prodigal in the embrace of his father. “Dear, fretful Cara. She had both means and motive, but I believe she truly loved Miss Livingston.” With her finger, Berdie softly brushed away a dust ball on the top of the prodigal son’s head. “When you have a new life growing inside you, it’s unimaginable that you’d destroy the life of another. No, Cara Graystone Donovan was too busy getting sick to have time to kill someone.”

  Lillie tipped her head. “We have discussed Mr. Raheem as an unlikely suspect already. Surely not Batty Natty.”

  “No, she’s a nutter but certainly not violent.” Berdie stepped to the desk. “Now, I think she perhaps saw something in Miriam’s back garden.”

  Lillie ran her cloth over the chair’s wooden foot. “What about Ivy Butz?”

  “No, not Ivy. The woman has displayed higher than usual emotional volatility recently, no doubt. If she were to off someone it would have been her husband.”

  “True,” Lillie agreed.

  “Something’s afoot with Ivy, but it’s not crime.”

  “Lucy Butz?”

  Berdie knitted her brow. “Oh yes, have you not heard? Little Lucy’s taken up with a clandestine knife-wielding militia.”

  Lillie laughed. “Well, she was there, Berdie.”

  “True enough, and you’re absolutely right. A standard in investigative procedure is to leave no stone unturned.” She picked up the framed pictures of Nick, smart in his naval uniform, and Clare radiating the smile that wrapped her father keenly around her smallest finger. Berdie held them to her chest. “Yes, I daresay all the Butz children will stand well as long as they have both their parents’ support.”

  “Berdie Elliott, you’re thinking what I’m thinking that I’ve dared not let myself speak out,” Lillie confirmed. “Edsel Butz!”

  Berdie put the pictures down and sat in the desk chair squarely at attention behind the desk. “Ah yes, Edsel Butz.”

  “You heard Jamie. Edsel had access to the key.”

  “That’s what is striking. He had access to the key and the truck. He set up the electrical job but didn’t attend to it himself. Certainly, he had the means at his fingertips. And his timely arrival before the cottage fire could spell suspect. But a simple though very public fuss with Miss Livingston isn’t a real motive.” She paused again. “Unless, of course, there’s indeed a stone yet to be upturned. It would be hard on Hugh if so.”

  Lillie sat back in the chair. “I’m discovering as I accompany you on this elephant hunt that human nature has an array of surprises.”

  “Saint Paul quoted it, ‘There is none righteous, no, not one,’” Berdie said. “Oh.” She widened her eyes as she sat forward. “Speaking of surprises—well, hardly a surprise in a way, really—I haven’t said. My dear husband and his cohort in arms, Andrew Busby, have unearthed some vital information about Gerald Lewis.”

  “The vicar?”

  “That’s just it, Lillie. He’s not a vicar. Gerald Lewis is not even remotely related to the church.”

  Lillie, who just stated she had discovered how surprising human nature could be, was once again without words.

  “Ah, but there’s more.” The back of Berdie’s neck felt crimson red. “He’s the CEO of a company that’s connected with a worldwide tech industry. And, to put the cherry atop the pudding, when Hugh called the company, he spoke to Lewis’s personal assistant. She said her boss was several weeks out of the office, scouting locations for a new branch.”

  “Of all the gall.” Lillie snapped her cleaning cloth against her thigh.

  Berdie shook an affirmative nod. “Remember when we were in Northumbria and about to introduce ourselves to Betty Oglesby?”

  Lillie gave the nod this time.
“But all I remember is the mud.”

  “I should think.” Berdie grinned. “Well, Hugh suggested he put on his collar with the idea that we would appear less threatening to our host, who had no idea who we were. That’s when the thought took root in my mind that perhaps Gerald Lewis wasn’t who he gave himself to be.”

  “Of course.” Lillie tapped her finger on the chair arm. “Who’s going to get royal treatment in a happy rural community, a vicar or a land grabber?”

  “Precisely. He’s not been about for several days, but if he reappears, my kind but deeply insulted husband has not a few words to share with that snake in the grass.”

  “I should say,” Lillie concurred. “And the police?”

  “That’s the thing, Lillie. Goodnight can give a shout out to the surrounding towns and villages as a courtesy. But even though Lewis behaved abominably and immorally exploited our entire community, he’s done nothing illegal.” Berdie lifted her brow. “That we know of.”

  “Well good riddance to that one.”

  Berdie worked her duster across the desk, and Lillie joined in, following after with splashes of wood soap and generous rubbing.

  “The Reeses were at the Advent party—well, only Mathew really.”

  “Now there.” Berdie shook the duster in Lillie’s direction. “Yes, there is a true wild card. Mathew, who seems to have simply hung about the edges, is actually intricately involved in the whole affair.”

  “He has kept a low profile.” Lillie rubbed a spot.

  “The elaborate ruse of still carrying on as if engaged to Cara, how does he really profit from it? There appears to be no payoff for him.”

  “Unless...” Lillie bit her lip.

  “Unless he killed Miriam, framed Jamie, and thought he could woo Cara back to his awaiting arms,” Berdie finished.

  “Or else he didn’t do any of those wretched things and simply cares deeply for Cara’s welfare.” Lillie sighed. “Oh my! What a tangled web we unweave!”

  “Look, Lillie, journalistic investigation at its simplest.” Berdie grabbed several paper clips from the caddy. She held one up. “This is the what. Miss Livingston, aka Miri Avent, was murdered.” She held up another paper clip. “This is the when.” She attached it to the first paper clip. “The night, or rather morning after, the party.”

  Lillie picked up a third. “This is the how?”

  “Indeed. Add it on. Now the bulk of this information was established early on.” Berdie snapped up another of the shaped wires while Lillie watched. “This is the why. This little fellow has taken much time and effort to establish. Discovering her true identity, which is germane to the whole why issue, lead us to recognize that the victim had some possession, some knowledge, something that probably relates to the past and was worth killing for. Though we’ve a bit more to go as to the exact nature of the why, we’ll add him on.”

  Berdie held the fifth paper clip that completed the chain like a precious diamond.

  “Ah.” Lillie smiled. “The who.”

  Berdie laid the small wire implement down on the desk. “The interminable who. Lillie, my dear, there is a stone, or are stones, that have yet to show their underside. But when we discover them,” Berdie held high the insignificant wire that represented so much, “it shall be an end to the matter.”

  When the teacher of the investigative process returned the paper clips to their home, something caught her eye. She pulled her tortoiseshell glasses down her nose and looked more closely at the cut glass dish. “What is that doing there?” Berdie plucked the object out of the container.

  “What?” Lillie asked without a glance.

  Berdie held something that looked similar to a smart silver cigarette lighter. “Hugh’s flash drive.” She turned the object over in her hand. “He always keeps it in the safe vault. It holds valuable information. How uncharacteristic of him to forget putting it away.” Berdie stood and stepped to a leather ottoman sitting peculiarly against a wall. With one ample shove, she scooted the ottoman aside.

  “We should get a new safe vault,” Lillie offered. “Yes, a new one that doesn’t require kneepads.”

  Berdie knelt down with some trepidation. “Ouch.” She lifted the cut square of wood that hid the subterranean floor vault and spun the numbers that made up the combination to open the lock.

  “Having floor vaults went out with medieval times,” Lillie spouted.

  “New vault. Good idea, Lillie. Bring it up to the parish council.” Berdie opened the vault door and placed the flash drive in its safe haven. “Now what’s this?”

  “What’s what?” Lillie came a bit closer.

  “This.” Still on her knees, Berdie turned to show her friend a green metal box that just fit across her hands.

  “How odd.” Lillie leaned forward to inspect the lock of the solid box. “An alignment lock,” she observed. “Best to put it back, Berdie. It must be something important.”

  The little box seemed to magnetize itself to her hands. Her pulse raced. “I’ve seen this box before, the day of the canceled funeral. It was in the hands of Bavol Nav’s grandson.” Berdie stared at the small piece like a child’s first gift of Christmas. “Lillie, I believe we have just upturned a very telling stone.”

  Several sturdy raps boomed upon the half-open sacristy door.

  Both women caught their breath. In a frenzy, Berdie dived to get the prize back into the safe vault while Lillie moved in front of her friend, shielding her from view.

  The ever-faithful guardsman showed his face. “Just checking all’s well. Near done?”

  Berdie could hear her friend release a deep breath.

  “Oh, Mr. Finn, you are a fine bodyguard. Jolly on the spot.” Lillie feigned laughter. “Fine, yes fine, all’s well. Nearly done really.”

  “You sure?”

  Berdie, still on her knees, closed the wooden slat. She could sense the man’s eyes upon her, despite Lillie’s attempts to shelter and distract. She was also keenly aware that what was on display was not her most attractive side.

  “Yes, just putting all in order.” Lillie gave a quick touch to Berdie’s back.

  “Right,” Berdie yelled. She tried to stand but her legs were not cooperating. Berdie decided instead to simply turn round and sit her backside on the floor. When round, she stretched her legs straight as soldiers on the floor in front of her. “The husband’s quite prickly about order.”

  The young man half smiled. “Be sure you don’t do yourself a mischief down there.”

  Berdie nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Finn.”

  When he was out of hearing range Lillie let her laughter roll.

  Berdie, on the other hand, covered her face with her hands. “Not one of my finer moments in the life of the church.”

  Lillie took her friend’s hand and assisted Berdie, now both embarrassed and sore, to her feet.

  “Come now, dear thing, let’s push on. Finish tidying up, shipshape.”

  “Shipshape indeed.” Berdie worked to regain her composure and wished her thigh to stop aching.

  Lillie put the polish cloth in Berdie’s hand and took the feather duster in her own. She fluffed over the church telephone. “Oh my. There are twenty-seven messages on the answerphone.”

  “My husband is notorious for keeping his messages for eons of time. He simply forgets to delete.” Berdie went to the machine and pressed a button.

  “Reverend Elliott, it’s Mrs. Plinkerton, and I can’t find my little Nesbit. He’s not used to being out of the house since being declawed. Could you pray for him? Thanks ever so.”

  “That was weeks ago,” Lillie said. “Nesbit was found at the fish market on the High Street.”

  “Delete.” Berdie poked the button.

  Next came the voice of Dudley Horn, the manager of the Upland Arms. “Vicar, thanks for being prompt in responding to my late call tonight. Your help’s appreciated.”

  Berdie observed the time and day stamp. “Two thirty in the morning. That was the night of the party
. Dudley called near 2:00 AM and asked Hugh to come rescue some parishioners from his pub, the night of the darts tournament. Hugh said he popped his head in but saw no parishioners.”

  “Delete?”

  “No, keep it. I need to talk to my husband about that one.” Berdie went on to the next message.

  “Reverend Elliott, sorry I’ll be late for our meeting. It’s car trouble. It shouldn’t be more than twenty minutes until the work’s done. I’ll be there shortly.”

  “Delete,” Lillie said and started to plunge her finger on the button.

  “No, Lillie.” Berdie grabbed Lillie’s hand. “Look at the time stamp. This was recorded near the time of the murder. Listen, listen.”

  Berdie hit the replay indicator. The message started again. “You recognize that voice?” She looked at Lillie.

  “Of course, it’s—”

  “Shh.” Berdie was avid. “Listen.”

  The message went on. “...shouldn’t be, bong, more than, bong, twenty minutes, bong.”

  Berdie hit the Stop button.

  “Lavender Cottage,” Lillie breathed.

  “God bless that blasted clock.”

  “We’ve got them. Oh no. Oh no...” Lillie swallowed hard.

  “Steady on, Lillie. This isn’t enough to bring a courtroom conviction. We’ve overturned a ‘who’ stone. Now I’ve got just the plan to nail them.”

  Berdie took Lillie’s hand. “Come now, let’s collect Mr. Finn and go cross to the vicarage. I need to speak to my husband immediately. We all need a stout cup of tea.”

  14

  “But Hugh, my trap is next to ironclad.”

  Hugh’s voice was firm. “Berdie, ironclad almost always sinks at some juncture or another.”