“I know,” Milton Butz said.
Berdie looked out the door to see Milton and his twin sister, Martha, on the front step.
“Hello, Miss Foxworth,” Martha greeted. “Mrs. Elliott. We’re aware that you’re going to say goodbye to the commander’s dog.” Martha’s short brown curls surrounded the face that Berdie always felt looked middle-aged, even at fourteen. “If we may impose…”
“My sister and me want to go to see the dog off, like.”
Martha wrinkled her nose in consternation. “Milty. My sister and I.”
“I see.” Berdie put the apron on the pub-mirror peg rail and stood by Lillie.
“Our father has given us permission to go if we’re not imposing on you,” Martha finished. “We’ll be respectful, honestly.”
“Da said we couldn’t go if we’re going to blub like babies, so don’t worry. We won’t blub.”
“Everyone’s entitled to be sad,” Lillie interjected.
Milton shifted his weight. “Our cousin Steven is in the military. He’s over there, you know.” Milton jerked his head as if signaling a specific direction.
“Afghanistan,” Martha amended.
“His guys have bomb-sniffing dogs. He’s told us about them in letters. Pretty wicked.”
“Wicked?” Berdie queried.
“He means he appreciates the brave heroics the dogs perform.” Martha apparently was Milton’s interpreter.
“Steven’s birthday is the same day as our big sister, Lucy.” Milton was, it seemed, making an effort at small talk in an attempt to win a favorable reaction to them coming along.
“That’s interesting,” Lillie responded with a grin.
Milton looked at his sister and back to Berdie. “So, can we go?”
Loren’s steps clipped in the hall and he arrived with the bagged sandwiches plus a small flask of tea.
“Here’s our driver.” Berdie turned to Loren. “Milton and Martha would like to say goodbye to Sparks with us.”
Loren eyed Berdie, who gave a quick wink.
“All aboard.” Loren pulled the car keys from his pocket.
****
Berdie had not expected the emotional struggle that plagued her now.
Nor had she expected Milton and Martha on the drive over to the vet’s to bang on, regaling everyone with stories of the amazing heroics performed by military service dogs, as described to them in letters from their cousin Steven.
Loren jumped into the conversation as well. “We had a patient in poor health at the hospital that made a real turn round when his Jack Russell terrier was allowed to visit him. Quite extraordinary.”
And now, despite the strong tea she drank in the car, here they all stood, and she just, in the operating room of the surgery.
Sparks lay motionless on his side before all assembled, the hero of mighty deeds and now a lonely figure on the operating table: solemn, rib cage bound, leg casted, spotted burns, and innumerable facial cuts with butterfly bandages holding things together. Berdie was questioning if termination of the animal was truly the right thing to do, despite his condition.
“Now we can say our piece on Sparks’s behalf. Then we’ll leave to let the doctor do her job.” Berdie labored to sound convincing.
“Is there internal bleeding?” Loren asked.
“No, surprisingly. Bruising, but no acute internal bleeding as such.” Dr. Stoddard’s massive gloved hands prepared the hypodermic, her white lab coat starchy white.
Should a bull charge Dr. Stoddard, Berdie was confident the big-boned woman would win the challenge, no contest. Small wonder she was well respected for her work with large farm animals as well as the small pets. And in minutes she would finish her work with Sparks.
“Is he in horrible pain? He looks in pain.” Milton eyed the dog’s leg.
The vet adjusted her black-framed glasses. “Medication helps relieve some of his suffering.”
Berdie found her thoughts flying off her tongue. “Would it be cruel to keep him alive?”
Dr. Stoddard stopped her needle preparation. She stared at Berdie, and then glanced at the children and back to Berdie. “Do we have reservations?”
There was a light rap at the door and an assistant poked his head in. “Someone else here to see Sparks.”
Berdie turned to see Mrs. Limb with Emmy and Max. “I hope you don’t mind. We won’t stay but a moment.” Mrs. Limb clipped the words and tautly looked round at all gathered. “They just want to tell the dog goodbye. He may have saved their lives, you know.”
The doctor nodded.
Max rushed to the table where Sparks lay.
The dog struggled to lift his head, as if in welcome, and the young lad gently laid his hand on the top of it. “Thank you, Sparks,” he whispered. He moved his hand in measured strokes down the animal’s neck. “Don’t worry. I’ll never forget you.”
Berdie felt salty wet gather in her eyes. This was just a bit too much.
Loren’s mobile phone broke into the moment when it sang out without respect for the proceedings. “So sorry,” he offered and stepped outside the door.
“He got off easy,” Lillie quipped in Berdie’s ear and offered Berdie a tissue from her bag.
Berdie took it and then glanced at Milton and Martha, who stood sharp as soldiers, completely stoic.
Emmy stepped to Max’s side. She took her brother’s hand and stood on tiptoe to touch Sparks’s paw that protruded from the cast. “I’ll miss you, Sparks.”
“OK, children, we must go now.” Mrs. Limb’s voice cracked.
Emmy and Max walked hand in hand back to Mrs. Limb, their faces rather downcast.
“Thank you,” Mrs. Limb addressed the doctor. “Sorry to have disturbed.”
Berdie, so caught up in present events, was prodded past what was before her to a moment of realization that this was an opportune time to catch Mrs. Limb and speak with her. She turned. “Mrs. Limb, if I may…”
The woman and little ones were already gone.
“When she said just for a moment, she meant it almost literally,” Lillie remarked.
Berdie half frowned. “I’ll just have to make a point to find her. She always seems in such a rush.”
Loren reentered the room. “Dr. Stoddard, may I have a word with you?”
“What is it?”
“In private?”
The woman lifted her brow and moved from the table to enter the hall with Loren.
“What do you suppose that’s all about?” Lillie’s inquiry sounded completely rhetorical.
And good thing, because Berdie certainly hadn’t a clue.
“Should we proceed?” Martha asked. “I have a poem I wrote for Sparks, you see.”
Berdie wanted to cut Martha short and tell her that she’d had quite enough with this whole affair, but knew it would be completely unacceptable to do so. “Let’s wait for Dr. Stoddard,” Berdie delayed.
“It’s a good poem,” Milton amended.
It was then Berdie noticed that Martha held a miniature British flag on a stick, the kind children wave when celebrating a royal visit. She had a vision of Martha holding the flag high in the air and reading “Ode to the Departing Hero Dog” with great sentiment when Dr. Stoddard lumbered through the door and straight to the table. “Anyone here in a position to care for Sparks?”
“What?” This seemed to be the day for unexpected turns. For the second time today, Berdie’s jaw dropped.
“He’ll require near-constant care. Pain medication is expensive.” Dr. Stoddard put a hand on her hip. “I’ll throw some in for good measure, gratis, for a week only, mind you. Poor creature thought he’d finally rest after giving all for king and country, and now this.” Dr. Stoddard patted Sparks. “There’s absolutely no room going spare here at the surgery. And there’s no guaranteed recovery. Having said all that, can anyone help?”
Berdie felt a knot in her stomach.
The twins exchanged glances. “We’ll take him,” Milton declared.
> “Milty. We can’t say that.” Martha’s eyes bounced to the veterinarian. “We have to talk to our father.”
Milton whipped an iPhone from his pocket. “Lucy’s,” he declared. “I borrowed it for just this very reason.”
“Does Lucy know you have it?” Martha frowned. “She’ll hang you up by your toes.”
“I’m ringing Da up right now.”
“What’s happened, Doctor?” Lillie looked as perplexed as Berdie felt.
Loren came next to Lillie.
“Ask him,” the vet said, shuffling tools about on her tray, demonstrating a slight annoyance at the disruption in her procedure.
“If, and that’s a big if, someone volunteers to care for the dog and pay for his treatment, the hospital has approved Sparks to visit the commander.”
“How did that come about?” Berdie stuck the tissue in her skirt pocket.
“Ask your husband.” Loren smiled. “He heard the story of the little Jack Russell terrier as well and took it to those in charge. Seeing as the daughter seems to be a no-show, there’s a certain compassion with it.”
Milton, whose phone conversation contained repeated “Please, Da?” and “We promise we’ll take care of him,” raised his left thumb upright, as in victory, his smile a half-moon.
“My assistant will have a printout for you of all the home care Sparks needs. And he’ll require at least forty-eight hours’ complete rest, mind you, before any hospital outings.”
“Brilliant,” Martha gushed.
Brilliant indeed, Berdie thought to herself and released a rather prolonged sigh, realizing she was off the hook.
****
Berdie relished the dappled sky and cool breeze that flirted with her cheek. “Lovely morning.”
Lillie rubbed her arms covered by a jumper. “A cold edge in that wind, I’d say. Just because you’ve had a proper night’s sleep, the commander keeps holding on, and the Butz family is seeing to Sparks doesn’t now make the world a piece of apple pie.”
“That’s not what I said.” Berdie stepped lively as she and Lillie walked the High Street, where busy shops opened their doors to welcome a new day. They were making way to the Copper Kettle where strong, hot tea awaited them. “It’s just I’ve set on a plan.”
“Really?” Lillie’s hazel-green eyes sparked. “You’re on to who’s responsible for the explosion.”
“Oh my, no. The pieces of this mysterious puzzle lie scattered about me yet. I’m afraid my detecting head is still reeling.”
“Surely not.”
“Well, I tried to order the events of the actual tragedy this morning, and even that was a bit hazy.”
“Go on.”
“Simply put, the dog sat, Doug shouted, the commander sent the children back to me, as a precaution, I expect…”
“What?” Lillie frowned. “Sparks gave the signal, right? Why would the commander proceed at all?”
“I’ve given it some thought. First, Cedric knew Sparks’s nose was damaged. He may have given little thought to his sitting, especially here in a sleepy rural village, let alone at a vicarage in a church vehicle. What were the chances something tragic would occur? He simply underestimated the possibilities, I reckon.”
“We all know better now.” Lillie increased the pace. “Rather frightening, all of this.”
“Yes, well, Jasper Kent’s on the job. Very capable. Not so sure about Brice. But I’ve decided to leave them alone to do their work.”
Berdie switched her market bag to her other hand as some unidentifiable twinge wiggled in the back of her brain. “Mind you, Peter Brice is a bit brisk for my liking. But still, with Chief Inspector Kent, they’ll sort the crime.”
“I don’t believe for a moment that you’re not interested in the investigation.”
“Of course I’m interested, Lillie. Does sausage sizzle? Should Kent ask, I’m available, though I shouldn’t tell Hugh that. No, this plan I’m about is something altogether different. I hatched the scheme for it yesterday in church.”
“Should you be hatching schemes in church?”
“That’s not the point. Besides, I sat in the pew seat behind the column. It lends itself to creative thinking.”
“Ah, yes. So what’s this scheme then?”
The distant shop bell of Raheem’s Greengrocer tickled Berdie’s ears as Maggie Fairchild, a member of the church-garden committee, departed the store and called out. “Mrs. Elliott, Miss Foxworth, good morning.”
Maggie held the hem of her dress close to her thin body for modesty’s sake against a breezy bluster and scurried cross the road to Berdie’s side. “Have you a moment?”
“What is it, Maggie?”
“I just wanted to inquire how the commander’s doing.”
“I went to the hospital yesterday afternoon,” Berdie informed. “He’s not improved, but then he’s not gotten worse either.”
“Poor soul.”
“Hugh says he’s hanging on as if by sheer will.”
“Well, he’s waiting for his daughter to arrive, isn’t he? Yes, he clings on for her sake.”
Berdie started. “Do you know his daughter?”
Maggie slipped out a slight chuckle. “My heavens, no, Mrs. Elliott.”
Berdie’s inquisitive stare prompted Maggie to explain.
“It’s just that I was at the Copper Kettle earlier this morning, and Villette happened to say that the commander and his daughter weren’t getting on when last together.”
Berdie threw a glance at Lillie. “Villette told you that.”
Maggie nodded.
“What else did Villette happen to say?” Berdie made sure her tongue was quite civil.
“Well, frankly, I should think we’ll all sleep better when that fellow is in Constable Goodnight’s custody.”
“What fellow?”
“The one, you know, that threatened the commander at a lakeside picnic. What did she say his name was? Chandler? Chadwick?”
Berdie stood ramrod-straight. “And did Villette tell you who or what her source of information was?”
“Why, it was one of your”—Maggie glanced down, then back to Berdie—“former guests, as a matter of fact, the nice young lady with the long blonde hair that’s now staying at the B and B. She and her father had tea at the Copper Kettle yesterday afternoon.”
“Really? And what exactly did Villette say about this fellow, Chadwick?”
Maggie’s eyes enlarged. “Well, he hurled monstrous threats at the gentleman.” She lowered her voice. “Demise was apparently mentioned.” Maggie rubbed her index finger against her market bag. “Oh, I do hope they catch him quickly. It’s unnerving to think someone like that is about in our community.”
Berdie put a hand on the woman’s shoulder. “You needn’t worry, Maggie. First of all, he’s not staying in Aidan Kirkwood, so breathe easy. But more importantly, there is no clear evidence that Chadwick had anything to do with the commander’s assault. Threats are not acts. Besides, that rather lies in the hands of the authorities to sort. Wouldn’t you agree? And we have some very capable investigators at work as we speak, who, I’m sure, can bring a quick resolution to the whole affair.”
Maggie’s face lit with relief.
“I needn’t remind you, Maggie, that Villette most likely earwigged the conversation. And oft-repeated words can escalate to a whole new height of misinformation.”
“Oh yes.” Maggie nodded. “Oh yes. I shan’t say any more to anyone about all this.”
“Wisest thing, really.” Berdie could see the sincerity in Maggie’s rather guileless face.
“No question,” Lillie agreed.
Maggie eyed the market bag Berdie held. “May I ask, Mrs. Elliott, are you planning a stop at Mr. Raheem’s shop?”
“Yes.” Berdie hoped to retrieve the rest of her produce order that Sundeep had failed to deliver.
“After a cuppa.” Lillie pointed toward the tea shop that was home to imprudent lips.
Maggie leaned a bit c
loser to Berdie and Lillie. “I must say, Mr. Raheem seems a bit distracted.”
“That’s odd,” Lillie piped.
“Yes. That’s why I noticed it so. I asked him for King Edward potatoes and he gave me goldens. And then when he weighed my cherries, he gave me two pounds instead of three like I asked.”
“He may have something on his mind,” Berdie suggested.
“Yes.” Maggie sighed. “Well, I suppose none of us are ourselves with all this to-do happening in the church garden.”
“Yes.” Berdie knew that only too well.
“We will continue to pray for the commander and for restored family harmony.” Maggie smiled. “Must get on. Thank you, Mrs. Elliott.”
“God go with you.” Berdie watched Maggie make way.
“My, how word gets round.” Lillie wrapped her arms round her torso. “I’m ready for that cup of tea.”
“Oh, I’m ready for that and more,” Berdie thundered. “Frightening poor Maggie like that, to say nothing of trial and conviction of Leftenant Chad Meryl. I shouldn’t wonder if Villette’s ears are absolutely burning her madly. They’re about to get a very large flea in them.”
6
“Mrs. Villette Horn.” Berdie’s words were a shot across the ship’s bow.
All eyes in the Copper Kettle turned upon Berdie, who stood fully armed for the skirmish. She was doing battle for what was right and honorable.
Lillie took Berdie’s arm. “Berdie,” she whispered, “please remember your place in the community.”
“That’s just why I’m going to speak to her,” she whispered back, but with just a bit more fire.
“But is elevenses the best time? The place is full to overflowing, with the attentive ears of the village at the ready.”
Berdie became suddenly aware that every table and chair in the place was occupied and several others stood waiting. An air of anticipation, like royal guests at a jousting match, sizzled round, every face focused on her.
Berdie took a deep breath. Lillie was right. Her confrontation was with Villette, not the village. Coming in ready for a verbal punch-up was not the best way to begin a conversation, and it would do nothing for Hugh’s reputation to make a fuss, right or wrong, in public.
Enigma of Fire Page 8
