A Simple Country Funeral

by Blythe Baker

  “That girl…” I said, setting the tray down with a great deal less care than I typically would, the silverware clattering loudly. “The beggar was her father. She came here looking for him, and Sam had to tell them…”

  I swallowed, unwilling to cry when I knew very well that the poor woman out in the dining room needed comfort far more than I did.

  13

  “How did they manage to find him?” Nathanial asked after I’d recovered myself. “He was entirely alone, couldn’t speak a word of English.”

  “He must have left something along the way for them to find,” Irene said.

  “The daughter’s husband can speak some English,” I said. “But something else is troubling me…”

  “And what might that be?” Irene asked.

  “Sam told them that the beggar had been emaciated when they found him, but that it was the gunshot wound that had killed him. He told them he had been stealing from people in the village, and that some had certainly not taken kindly to being stolen from,” I said.

  “But he didn’t specify who it was, exactly, that had taken the shot at him?” Nathanial asked.

  I shook my head.

  “So he either doesn’t know, or he didn’t think it was pertinent information to share with the daughter,” Nathanial said.

  “To be honest, there was one person that came to mind immediately as soon as he said that,” I said. “At least, after the shock wore off of hearing him tell them this terrible news.”

  Nathanial and Iren exchanged uneasy glances. “And who was that?” she asked.

  “The farmer that Sidney and I went to visit, just a few miles outside of town,” I said. “Mr. Cooke.”

  “What makes you think it was him?” Nathanial asked.

  “Because he told Sidney and I that the beggar had broken into his garage, and that he’d chased him off with his rifle,” I said.

  “But that was before his death, wasn’t it?” Irene asked. “Before he wound up dead?”

  “What if the beggar returned, and tried to steal from him again?” I asked. “He was found with stolen goods, and that’s what the farmer claimed the beggar was doing in his garage.”

  “Didn’t you say he seemed surprised that the beggar was dead, though?” Irene asked.

  I frowned. “I suppose he was…but what if he was lying to us?”

  “If I were you, Helen, I would leave this to the police,” Nathanial said. “I know how terrible it must feel, knowing the poor young woman out there lost her father the way she did…but that is why Sam Graves was meeting with them. He is going to do everything he can to ensure they are given all the information they need, and I know he’s a good man, and will do his best to locate the person who committed this terrible crime.”

  I nodded. “I know. You’re right. I really should just leave it to them…”

  Irene wrapped her arm around my shoulder. “Come along, dear. I’ll walk you home. I think you need some rest, and promise me that you will put all this aside and take care of yourself, yes?”

  “But what about the shop?” I asked. “Don’t you need my help today?”

  “We will be just fine,” Irene said. “I’m more worried about you. You look so pale. Have you been getting enough sleep? Have you been eating well?”

  “Yes, I’m fine,” I said.

  I argued with them for another five or ten minutes before I realized I was not going to be winning, and Irene walked home with me.

  “I admire you, you know,” she said as we made our way along the relatively busy street. Villagers were walking past, evidence of the festival following along with them; I saw a child with bright red hair gripping the long, fluttering strings of three brightly colored balloons, and a young man eating kernels of popcorn that had been coated in something sugary sweet. A father held an overstuffed bear tucked beneath his arm, while his other hand held that of his young son’s.

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “Just that,” she said. “I have known many people who would run from the sorts of problems you’ve encountered. When we discovered that your aunt had been killed in your house, I thought for certain you would move out. I expected you to show up one afternoon, your bags already packed, just to say goodbye.”

  She smiled at me.

  “But you’ve surprised me. Instead of running from your fears, you’ve faced them head on.”

  “It wasn’t easy,” I said. “I was afraid to live there, not knowing what had happened, or who had caused it. I had nightmares of someone breaking in once again, ready to attack me the same way they did my aunt.”

  “What made you stay?” she asked.

  “This place is my new home,” I said. “I moved here to get away from the pain of my past, and I was determined to make this place my own, where none of those terrible memories could follow me.” I shook my head. “But those memories came along with me, even if I didn’t want them to.”

  “Distance never separates us from our past, unfortunately,” she said. “Eventually, we have to face it and just accept it for what it is.”

  “As I’ve learned…” I said.

  My little cottage appeared down High Street as we came to it, with its lovely honey-colored stone walls and landscaped front garden. I was proud of such a place, and it made my heart glad to know that it was my own.

  “I guess I am still wondering, then, why you have been so invested in this case about the beggar,” Irene said. “You didn’t even know him.”

  “I know,” I said. “Honestly, there are times when it seems ridiculous to me, as well. But I think that the idea of yet another death going unanswered is just…well, it’s almost intolerable.”

  “Because of Roger?” Irene asked.

  “Precisely,” I said. My eyes stung, but I kept my head down as I unlocked the front gate of my garden. “I suppose it won’t make much sense to anyone else, but I realize that there is a very good chance I will never know exactly what happened to my husband on the day he died, and that…it’s deeply troubling.”

  “I cannot even imagine it, my dear,” Irene said as we walked along the path to my front door.

  “And I know that I should just keep my nose out of it, but I – ”

  My hand froze, halfway to the doorknob.

  The door was already cracked open.

  My heart jumped into my throat, and I couldn’t move. All I could do was stare at the door.

  “What’s wrong?” Irene asked.

  She noticed the door, and gasped.

  “Did you leave it open earlier? Maybe you forgot to shut it?”

  “I’m positive I didn’t,” I answered.

  “In that case, we shouldn’t enter,” she said. “Someone must have broken in. What if whoever was in there is still inside?”

  The blood rushed in my ears, and there was a dull throb at the back of my head. “You’re right…” I said.

  The next thing I knew, I was being dragged back along the road, back toward the center of town. Irene was urgently trying to calm my nerves, but I barely heard anything she was saying.

  Someone had broken into my house. In the middle of the day. During the festival.

  “That might have been the best time,” Inspector Graves said when we found him back at the teahouse. The young couple had gone, and Irene was the one to explain what we had discovered. “The burglar likely believed you would be away for the day. It isn’t all that uncommon for us to hear about thefts happening on days like this, when everyone’s attention is focused elsewhere.”

  “Will you come with us to check the house?” Irene asked.

  “Of course,” he said, getting up, and tossing a handsome tip onto the table. “Let’s go.”

  We walked back to my house, my nerves singing the whole way. At least Irene had the sense to tell me to get help from the police. I could have just as easily stepped into the house all on my own. And what would I have done if I’d met an intruder with a gun? Or a knife?

  Those troubling though
ts kept chasing themselves around in my mind all the way back down to High Street.

  Sam was the one to walk up to the door first. Somewhere along the way, he’d pulled out his pistol, holding it aloft as he leaned up against the open door.

  His face hardened, his brows knitting together in one tight, thick line.

  Then, he pushed the door open and crossed the threshold in one, swift motion, a move that seemed far too graceful for someone of his stature.

  I attempted to follow, but Nathanial gently laid a hand on my shoulder, preventing me from going any further.

  “Just wait,” he said kindly. “We don’t know what he might find.”

  It was an anxious few minutes before the inspector returned. Every second that passed, I worried about hearing the sound of a gun going off, or the frightened cry of someone caught off guard.

  Nothing like that happened, though.

  The door suddenly being pulled open startled me, making me nearly jump backward into Irene.

  Sam’s cross face appeared.

  “There’s no one here,” he said. “Though it’s clear they were looking for something…”

  He gave me permission to enter the house.

  The shop seemed undisturbed. Boxes were as I left them on the shelves, and drawers were still closed. It wasn’t until I wandered upstairs that I discovered what Sam was talking about.

  It was a completely different place. Every cupboard door had been thrown open, and every drawer was either overturned or pulled out so far they were hanging by the hinges.

  “Oh, good heavens…” Irene said, reaching the top of the stairs where I was standing.

  I could only stare around in horror. The cushions of the sofa were lying on the floor, and the bedding on my bed had been turned down, and boxes from beneath pulled out and opened.

  “Whoever it was seems to have left in a hurry,” Nathanial said.

  “No,” Sam said. “They must have been here for some time. Unfortunately, I’ve never known a burglar to ever clean up after themselves…”

  Irene laid a hand on my arm. “Who could have done such a thing?”

  Sam shrugged his shoulders. “I have very little to go off of. Whoever it was did not leave any clues behind. They’ve done this before.”

  A chill ran down my spine.

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if either of the houses beside yours were hit as well,” Sam said. “That Sidney Mason lives next door to you, right?”

  I nodded.

  “I’ll have to check with him, make sure that his home wasn’t also broken into,” Sam said.

  “You should see if they made off with any of your valuables,” Irene said gently.

  After checking my jewelry box, and the drawer in the kitchen where I kept my ration coupon book, I realized that nothing of value was missing.

  “What does this mean, then?” I asked the inspector.

  He rubbed his broad chin. “I couldn’t tell you,” he said. “Normally it’s any jewels that go first, as they’re the most valuable. Next, it’s art, like vases and paintings. Nothing like that is missing?”

  “No, nothing,” I said. “I don’t own very much, so I would know right away if something was gone.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said, and I was surprised by the genuine concern in his tone. “I’ll have a constable patrol the street outside your house for the next few days to make sure that if the burglar attempts to return, you are protected.”

  “And if you want, dear, you can come and stay with us for a few days, just until this all blows over,” Irene said.

  I agreed, somewhat numbly, but my thoughts could really only focus on two different questions.

  One, what on earth had the burglar been looking for? And two…was it connected in some way to the murder of the Polish beggar?

  14

  Those questions haunted me for the next two days.

  At Irene and Nathanial’s insistence, I stayed with them in their spare bedroom. Their son, Michael, seemed all too happy to have a house guest, someone new to play with. I knew I was safe staying with them, but I couldn’t shake how violated I felt, having my home and personal belongings rifled through the way they had been. I knew that eventually, I would have to reopen my shop, have to answer to my customers about what happened. Not only would it be incredibly difficult to talk about, but I wondered how many people would lose trust in my shop in the first place, wondering if it was safe for them to be there.

  The more I thought about the break-in, the more convinced I became that it had something to do with the murder of the beggar. Nothing else made any sense to me. Just like the last time I found myself far too invested in a murder, I hadn’t exactly been quiet about my involvement.

  If I really thought about it, there were likely quite a few people who knew I had been connected to the beggar, at least in a small way. The innkeeper and his cook, Sam Graves and likely several of his officers at the station. Sidney and Irene and Nathanial. The farmer out across town and his wife.

  One night, when I was finally able to get some sleep, I dreamt of Sam Graves showing up and arresting me, accusing me of being the one who had killed the beggar.

  It wasn’t all that farfetched to imagine, considering my involvement. Not only had I stuck my nose in where I shouldn’t have time and time again, I had sneaked onto the crime scene, twice. I eavesdropped on the conversation that Sam was having with the beggar’s daughter, and I had sought out information from different people who had interacted with him.

  Given my incessant involvement, I could easily see why Sam Graves might eventually turn his attention to me, someone who might seem entirely innocent, yet with a great deal of knowledge. I could understand how it might seem that I was simply trying to cover my tracks, even going so far as to ransack my own house to divert suspicion…

  None of that was true, of course. But it made me start to wonder if someone was attempting to frame me, or knew about my interest in the case and was trying to deter me from looking any further.

  That means I am close to finding out the answer, though, doesn’t it? I thought late at night when the rest of the Driscoll house was fast asleep; Nathanial’s snores could be heard all the way down the hall. And it also means that someone is aware that I am onto them.

  And the only person I could think that might still be responsible for the beggar’s death…was Mr. Cooke, the farmer.

  It fit the bill, didn’t it? The beggar had been shot, and the farmer had openly admitted that he had chased the unfortunate man away with his rifle. He’d admitted that the beggar had been trying to steal from him. It made me wonder if the goods that had been found on the dead man’s body matched those taken from the farm.

  I was having a hard time remembering exactly what had been with the beggar’s body. Had I been able see anything aside from his face? Had there been any goods in the shed with him?

  I knew I had likely reached the limit of requests I was able to bring to the police. As much as I wanted to be able to ask Sam Graves what, precisely, had been found with the beggar’s body, I knew I wouldn’t be able to without drawing even more suspicion toward myself.

  I have to do it myself, I thought. If Mr. Cooke was the one who broke into my house, trying to scare me, then he might not hesitate to strike again…but this time, who knows if he would try and hurt me. I need to catch him before he can catch me.

  “Where are you off to so early this morning?”

  It was Nathanial. I had been doing my best to be quiet. It was in the hour before the sun would come up, and I worried that if any of the Driscolls were awake, they would stop me.

  My face flooded with color as he smiled kindly at me from the breakfast table, the newspaper open in his hands.

  “Oh,” I said. “I – I remembered there was an urgent delivery that I had to make today.”

  “Oh, well, I admire your desire to get back to business,” Nathanial said.

  I hesitated, knowing I was probably pushing my luck, but decided to
try it anyways. “Would it be alright if I borrowed your car?” I asked.

  “The car?” Nathanial asked, his brow furrowing.

  That was it. I’d asked too much. “My client is outside of town, just south of here. It would save me a great deal of time if I could drive out there.”

  “Well…I suppose there’s no harm,” Nathanial said, rising slowly from his chair. It was clear he was not all that comfortable allowing me to take the vehicle, but I knew there was nothing strange in what I’d said.

  He passed me the keys. “You’ll be back with it soon?” he asked.

  “Likely within the next two hours,” I said with a smile.

  Guilt wracked me as I stepped outside, the keys in my hands trembling. I’d just lied to my dear friend’s husband, who I cared for as well…and I’d done it as easily as breathing.

  There really was something wrong with me, wasn’t there?

  I pushed aside my guilt, soothing my anxiety with the promise to myself that I would certainly tell them everything as soon as I was back. If I’d told them I planned to take the car out to the farmer’s property, they never would have let me go.

  I will tell them everything…I promised myself. As soon as I get back, I will confess to it all, and I will keep out of whatever happens next.

  My instincts told me that this farmer was responsible for more than he admitted to…and his quick dismissal of Sidney and I was proof of it.

  Sidney…

  As I drove past his house, I caught sight of his silhouette in the window. He was already up and working.

  For a brief moment, I considered stopping and asking him to come with me.

  I kept driving, though, when I remembered that he, like Irene, Nathanial, and Sam, had asked me to keep my distance from this whole thing. He would just try to talk me out of it like everyone else.

  It was still dark when I reached the farm. I knew it wouldn’t be wise to drive the car all the way up to the house, but the drive leading to the farm was nearly a half a mile long.