by Blythe Baker
“…Helen?” Irene asked.
“Yes?” I asked, my eyes snapping up to her in the front seat.
She gave me an apologetic look. “Are you all right? I’ve been asking you about those boys for the last few minutes. I suppose you haven’t heard me?”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I said. “I was just thinking about some of the things I had talked about with them…”
“These soldiers…it just breaks my heart,” Irene said as Nathanial pulled the car down the drive into the night. “They’re so kind, though. I hope they get to go home once they’ve healed.”
“One of the boys I was talking with was from my hometown,” I said. “We knew the same families.”
“Isn’t that funny?” Nathanial said, glancing at me in the rearview mirror. “How small the world can seem at times.”
“They also told me that one of the patients escaped a few nights ago…” I said, nervously licking my lips. “Remember the one we heard screaming?”
“Oh, yes,” Irene said. “That was tragic, wasn’t it? It broke my heart to hear that.”
“You’re saying one of them got out?” Nathanial asked. “How?”
“Well, according to the men I was speaking with, there are some soldiers at the hospital that have essentially lost their minds. They don’t know who they are, or where they are. They live perpetually in their nightmares,” I said.
“How terrible,” Irene said. “No wonder that poor fellow sounded so distraught…”
I nodded. “They also have been known to attack nurses, as well as their own family who come to see them.”
“Really?” Nathanial asked. “Well, I suppose if they’ve taken leave of their senses, then I can see how they might think that those coming toward them are trying to attack them.”
“And one of these men managed to escape from the hospital?” Irene asked. “Where is he now?”
“Oh, they found him,” I said. “But he had been gone for a whole day. They discovered he was gone in the middle of the night almost five days ago…and then found him the next morning, covered in blood and mud, on the side of the street outside of town. He was unconscious.”
“Do they have any idea what happened to him?” Nathanial asked.
“No,” I said. “And they likely never will, because the soldier probably doesn’t even remember, and cannot communicate it, either.” I sighed. “The boys I was talking with said they would not have wanted to meet a soldier like him out in the street in the middle of the night. These men are trained to kill, and they seem to believe that many people are their enemies, unknowingly attacking those who are trying to help. And that got me thinking…”
“About what?” Irene asked.
“…that poor Polish beggar,” I said in a quiet voice. “We all know that he was killed, but not how.”
Irene turned around and looked at me, her eyes wide and face rather pale. “You cannot be serious,” she said.
“The thought had never crossed my mind until those boys said the soldier had escaped just a few days ago…and it may have very well been the next day when the beggar’s body was found in the Englewood’s shed,” I said. “It’s far too much of a coincidence, if you ask me.”
Irene looked over at her husband, whose face was now set in a hard, unflinching line.
“That is a troubling thought,” Nathanial said.
“But wouldn’t the hospital have worked with the police already?” Irene asked. “Surely they would have asked for their help in locating the soldier in the first place.”
“I imagine they would have, yes,” Nathanial said. “But even still…”
“What are you thinking?” I asked.
“I’m wondering if this might be something we should take to the police anyways,” Nathanial said. “Because I would sleep much better at night knowing there isn’t some mad, murderous fool roaming our streets at night.”
Irene nodded, concern etched on her pretty, round face. “Very well, dear.” She looked back at me. “Are you willing to tell the police what you heard?”
I nodded. “I do hope those boys will forgive me for sharing what they told me.”
“If it is to help uncover a man’s killer, I’m certain they will understand,” she said.
I hoped she was right.
“Let me stop in and explain things to the neighbor we left sitting with Michael,” Nathanial said. “Then we can go down to the station and inform Inspector Graves of our findings.”
My heart clenched as I thought of Sam Graves, and of his gruff attitude toward me. He had specifically warned me to stay out of this whole situation. What was he going to do when I showed up at the police station with a theory of my own?
The look on Inspector Graves’ face when we walked into his office was precisely what I expected it would be.
“Mrs. Lightholder,” he said, his bright blue eyes narrowing. “What a surprise…”
Nathanial gave me a curious, sidelong look.
“What can I do for you three at such a late hour?” Sam asked, taking a seat in his leather chair behind his desk. He gestured for Irene and me to sit across from him.
“We went to the hospital tonight to visit with the wounded soldiers and deliver some supplies to the nurses,” Nathanial said. “While we were there, Helen had an interesting conversation with some of the wounded.”
“Did you, now?” Sam asked, his eyes narrowing even further. “Why do I get the feeling that I am not going to like the answer to my next question?”
I shifted uncomfortably in the chair. I could feel Irene’s curious gaze upon me. I hadn’t told her about my past interactions with Sam Graves, nor the clear warning he had given me in the cemetery the afternoon of the beggar’s funeral.
“What did you hear?” he asked.
“I was told about a soldier that escaped,” I said, and shared with him the same story the boys had shared with me.
“And why, exactly, did you come all the way down here at nearly half past ten in the evening to tell me this?” he asked.
“Because I believe the soldier escaped the same night that the beggar was killed,” I said. “And from what the boys told me, if they suspected he was an enemy for even a moment, he wouldn’t have hesitated to attack.”
I expected Sam to scold me and send me away.
Instead, though, he leaned back in his seat, regarding me with something between admiration and hostility. I wasn’t sure which he was leaning toward for a few uncomfortable moments as he sat there, silent.
“You seem to have a mind for this sort of work, Mrs. Lightholder,” Sam said with apparent reluctance. “Sniffing up clues wherever they might be found, putting the pieces together like a puzzle…never resting until the answer has been discovered, the truth on display for all to see.”
I felt Irene’s gaze on me, but I didn’t look at her.
Sam pushed himself up out of his chair, his hands flat on the desk.
“You should know that we followed that lead already,” he said, his eyes never leaving mine. “Three days ago, in fact. While half of my men were out looking for this escaped loon of a soldier, I was dealing with the body of some unfortunate beggar who had been bothering the townsfolk for almost a fortnight. Upon comparing stories, many of the officers came to the same conclusion you did, and we investigated.”
He turned around to his window, his reflection looking irritated. He stared out into the darkness for a moment before his reflection shifted its gaze back to me.
“The soldier was not the one who killed the beggar,” Sam said finally, clasping his hands behind his back.
“But they both were covered in blood – how can we be sure the soldier’s blood wasn’t just his own, but the beggar’s as well?” I asked
“How do you know his body was bloody?” Sam asked, suddenly alert.
I shrunk a bit beneath his scrutiny, but I wasn’t going to let him push me around.
I sat up straighter, glowering up at him.
“I saw the
body in the shed,” I said, meeting the gaze of his reflection.
He spun around, his real eyes fixed on me now.
“When did you do that?” Nathanial asked, astonished. “You were standing with me the whole time.”
I looked sheepishly up at him. “I…sneaked around to the back and looked inside. I was worried it might have been someone I knew, and – ”
“She can’t resist prying into other people’s business…” Sam interrupted. “It seems to be a trait that runs in the family…”
My cheeks burned, and I glared up at him.
“For your information, the blood the soldier had on his clothing was from his own wounds which had reopened in his effort to escape. The nurses believe that he must have thought he had been captured by the enemy, and was trying to get away. A gunshot, apparently. A rather nasty one that was not healing well, due to his excessive outbursts.”
I dipped my head at his words. Jim and Frank had said as much, that it might have been his own blood.
“Besides, he was found a long way from where we discovered the body of the beggar,” Sam said. “Too far to make any logical sense that they had anything to do with one another. It was nothing more than a coincidence that both of those incidents happened on the same day.”
“I see…” I said.
“I understand your desire to find an answer, but as I have told you, it should be left to the police. These investigations are dangerous, as you learned yourself the hard way with your encounter with Mrs. Martin. Your involvement would be nothing more than a liability. You really must keep your distance.”
He shifted his gaze over to Irene.
“You two are friends?” he asked.
“Yes,” Irene said, nodding.
“Then I would ask you to convince Mrs. Lightholder to keep well clear of all this. It will only end in her getting hurt.”
Irene looked nervously over at me, and then up at her husband.
Nathanial cleared his throat, shifting his weight on his feet. “Not to be a bother, sir, but we are troubled by the idea of the killer not being found, as well,” he said. “We have a young boy at home, and I for one am none too keen on the idea of someone else ending up dead.”
Sam looked at Nathanial, his gaze hard, yet fair. “I understand,” he said. “And we are doing our best to keep everyone in the village safe. That is our top priority. I can assure you both that we will make certain whoever did this does not go undiscovered. Now…if you will all excuse me, I have one more thing I must take care of this evening before I leave for the day.”
He walked us back to the front door, and his goodbye was stilted and overly formal.
We weren’t even two steps down the road before Irene turned to me, prodding me in the arm with her finger. “Helen, what were you thinking?” she asked in a very motherly tone. “Trying to get involved in a murder case? After everything you’ve been through?”
My cheeks burned, and I didn’t know how to reply. I hadn’t expected Sam Graves to treat me like a child and order Irene to turn on me like she was now.
“And going to look at that body like that?” Irene asked, shuddering. “Are you really sure that was wise?”
“I…” I started. “That poor beggar…he was looking for someone. His wife, his daughter, a friend…I don’t know, but he was harmless. All he wanted was some help. And then someone comes along and just…” I couldn’t get the words out. “And then leaves him in a shed so thoughtlessly…it just sickens me, and I couldn’t stand the thought of him being alone and without any help.”
Irene’s face fell, and she laid a hand on my arm. “I can understand that.”
“That man probably had a family,” Nathanial said. “People that would be devastated to know that this happened to him. And now they likely won’t ever find out.”
“Maybe it’s better that way,” Irene said. “Would you rather spend your life not knowing, but still hopeful? Or would you rather know the truth?”
“The truth,” I said. “Hope is a wonderful thing, don’t get me wrong, but I would much rather know what happened so that I could grieve properly. As hard as it was, I’m glad I found out about Roger. I can’t imagine the anguish I would have felt if I was waiting around for years and years for him to come home, and I just never knew.”
“Yes, I suppose you’re right,” Irene said.
“And what if his family does come looking for him eventually?” I asked. “Wouldn’t it be better to find justice for him?”
“I don’t disagree with you,” Irene said. “But wouldn’t it be best to leave it to the police, allow them to solve the crime themselves?”
“Perhaps…” I said.
“Helen, please promise me that you won’t put yourself in danger,” Irene said. “You are far too dear a friend now for us to lose you. My heart nearly failed me when we learned about Mrs. Martin coming after you the way she did…”
As we came to a stop outside their front door, I hugged Irene.
“I promise I will stay out of harm’s way,” I said, smiling at her. “And thank you for tonight. I’m glad we had a chance to spend some time with those young men.”
“Well, I’m glad you came along, as well,” Irene said.
We wished each other good night, and I started up the road to my own house.
My mind was reviewing the evening, trying to digest everything I had seen and heard.
For a brief moment, I thought I had perhaps solved the poor beggar’s murder. Yet I was back at square one again.
No, you’re not back at square one, I said to myself sternly. You are not getting involved. From here on out, you are not going to chase after this any further. Not only would it upset Irene, but it would make Sam Graves even more annoyed than he already is.
I did my best not to think of those poor soldiers as I went to sleep that night, about the horrors they’d seen, and the nightmares they had to endure over and over again…
“War is a terrible thing…” I muttered to myself in the dark. “It will be better for everyone once it is finally over.”
8
Arriving home so late the night before, I didn’t manage to get a great deal of sleep. My alarm clock started to sing far too early, startling me out of a deep, dreamless sleep.
I rose for the day rather unhappily, dragging myself to the shower so that I could stand in the hot water, which did nothing to help me feel more awake. I washed my hair, dried it, and managed to tie it in a short braid before wrapping it into a knot at the nape of my neck.
I chose the most comfortable heels I owned, and decided to try a new dress that I had mended with some ribbons and new buttons. Wanting to model it for the customers I knew would come in that day, I hoped it might pique some of their interest so they might ask me about it.
My plan was to offer it to the customers as a possible future avenue for my shop. The idea of picking up Mrs. Martin’s part of the market was growing on me, and I knew I would need to start somewhere. Why not with my own clothing?
I also knew that busying myself with the business that day would help distract me from thoughts about the beggar and his death. I wasn’t sure why I couldn’t shake it, but in a way, I almost felt responsible for what happened to him.
Now that it seemed the soldier who had broken out of the hospital probably had not been the one to kill the beggar, I found my thoughts drifting back toward the innkeeper. What if, in his anger, he had decided to take out his grief and rage over his son’s death on a stranger?
I knew I could not entertain the idea of taking this possibility to Inspector Graves, especially not after bringing the theory about the soldier to him the night before. He would accuse me of further meddling and do everything he could to keep me out of the whole business.
Either way, I knew it wasn’t my responsibility. Even if the possibility of the innkeeper being the killer seemed so plausible, I couldn’t go and tell Sam that.
But why hasn’t he gone to talk to him, yet? I wondered as I
swept the floor of the shop a quarter of an hour before it opened. This is a small village. It would surely be easy to find out how much Mr. Diggory despised the Germans. We weren’t there more than half an hour before we learned about it…
I had to force myself to stop thinking about it, as I knew it would distract me from all the other matters I had to tend to that day.
I opened the shop just after nine like I always did, and customers were arriving within just a few minutes.
“Oh, good, I was hoping you still had some gold zippers left at this length,” said Mrs. Georgianna as she poured over the display that Sidney had repaired for me. “I’ll have four, please.”
“I’m afraid that I need another button mended,” said poor Mr. Oliver, who was very nearly blind. “No one seems to do as good a job as you do.”
“That’s all right, dear, six brown buttons and six navy will be just fine. Not to worry,” said Mrs. Trent.
It wasn’t until almost noon when Sidney appeared at the back door of the shop that I realized why there were so many more customers than usual.
“Oh, well, surely you knew about the town festival?” he said as he carried his ladder in through the door; he had seen a leak in the ceiling the last time he was here, and seemed determined to fix it. “It happens every year in the third week of June.”
“I’ve heard nothing of it,” I said.
He grinned. “How did I, a man who has lived here for even less time than you have, manage to hear about this first?”
I smirked at him, folding my arms. “Very amusing. You know very well that I was only here a few weeks before you were.”
He winked as he unfolded his ladder beneath the part of the ceiling that he wanted to inspect. “Regardless, it’s supposedly a very important part of this town’s history. According to a farmer I was working with earlier today, the festival began all the way back in the seventeenth century, as a way to celebrate a victory in battle. I can’t remember which one, but it was a rather large event. It seems that the man who had supposedly inspired Robin Hood was in attendance during the archery competition.”
