Berdie felt a sense of disappointment. This was not the news she hoped for.
“We’re missing something.” Kent pressed his lips together. “My teammate and his techno toys, ready to save the world, and yet we’re still missing something.”
Berdie decided to speculate, though she could hardly let go the words. “Have you considered that perhaps the commander’s misfortune was self-inflicted?”
“Odd you should say that,” Kent mumbled. “With two and two making up three, we’ve begun questioning in that general area as well. Stupid way for the old fellow to go about things though.”
“Practically, it just doesn’t make much sense,” Berdie concurred.
“What made you think of it?”
“Someone brought it up to me. They pointed out that Cedric was quite low, had a dismal family life, wife gone, retirement bringing a sense of loss, that kind of thing.”
“And?”
“Well, it’s so out of character for him. He’s a soldier, a fighter, a man of integrity. I daresay, and most convincingly, should he consider that kind of act, he would jolly well do it quickly and cleanly so as to be sure the job was done properly.”
“Yes, would do.” Chief Inspector Kent took a large gulp from his cup and looked squarely at Berdie. “Our experts have good interview and analytical skills, probing techniques, and remarkable resources. But you have something we need: local knowledge.”
Berdie felt a drop of rain on her cheek, then another. “You are aware that the commander’s estranged daughter arrived last evening? Her boyfriend, Turkish, I believe, has accompanied her from their apparent residence in that country.”
Kent tapped a finger on his cup. “Your husband informed us last night. Intelligence operatives, even former ones that are now vicars, never lose the scent for something that smells fishy.”
“And?”
“We’re following it up.” Kent didn’t seem eager to expose any information on this drops-beginning-to-fall morning. “Well, time I got along.”
Berdie glanced at the white bag that had the telltale scent of a blueberry muffin. “With the investigation or breakfast?”
“Both,” Kent chirped. He paused. “You, if you don’t mind me using the term, sit at the epicenter of this village. And I have the sense it’s there, somehow, that the key to this whole thing may lie. So, keep your nose in, Berdie.”
“Chief Inspector, I’m me. I live with my nose in.”
Kent smiled. “We’ll be in touch.”
He stepped into the road and began a forward motion, little spats of rain decorating the landscape.
“God go with you,” Berdie called to Kent.
He lifted his coffee as if in a toast to her blessing.
A sense of fresh and vital energy surged within her, despite the cool rain now splashing the ground. Chief Inspector Kent esteemed her a valuable resource. She knew that—he had said it many times—but at this moment, the truth of it took on real meaning. She felt the vigor of her discerning gifts pulse. She had a new vivacity of standing planted on her own investigative feet and kicked the idea that “my gift is faltering” to the curb. “Be prepared, Chief Inspector Kent,” she said under her breath. “I’m going to solve this case!”
Berdie gathered her poise and entered the Copper Kettle. The entire tearoom became a din of low murmurs upon sight of her, with only the clatter of dishes in the back kitchen disturbing the tittle-tattle.
Berdie made sure her shoulders were straight, her stride confident, her chin properly poised, and her smile pleasant as she made way cross the shop to the tiny table where Lillie and a steam-spewing teapot awaited.
“You don’t look to have prison pallor,” Lillie teased softly when Berdie reached the table.
“And good morning to you as well.” Berdie placed her umbrella against her chair with a thud and sat down.
Lillie poured milk from a floral-designed pitcher into the cup set for Berdie. “I see you in all-over institutional gray.”
“What?”
She added a teaspoon of sugar. “With those little reformatory-issue shoes.” She ran a finger up her arm. “And a grand tattoo: ‘Don’t mess with Mama.’”
“Ha, ha,” Berdie said in a witty snap.
Lillie poured the hot tea into Berdie’s cup. “Oh, come now, Berdie. What else can you do but laugh?”
“It’s all very well for you.” Berdie stirred her tea and took a quick sip. She glanced at a nearby table where she spied Mrs. Dora Hall, the oral-surgery sufferer. “I’ll show you, Lillie, what else I can do. Two breakfast rolls and a very public private conversation.”
Berdie stood and made way for the cash register. The clipping of her nicely polished shoes on the wooden floor was steady and solid until she stopped at the table where Mrs. Hall and a friend sat.
“Mrs. Hall, good morning. I’m glad to see you’re enjoying a nice cuppa.” She nodded to the guest seated with her and addressed Mrs. Hall. “Your nephew, Stuart, told me about your oral surgery while he was buying some flowers for you at the White Window Box.”
Berdie could feel everyone’s stares.
“Yes,” Mrs. Hall acknowledged with a grand smile.
“Excuse me, but you don’t seem to be in agony. It’s just that my husband understood that you were really suffering and perhaps further surgery was in order. He’s planning to call in later this morning.”
“Oh my, no,” Mrs. Hall said with some alarm. The woman, who was the chair of the local literary society, sent her camel-like eyes into a flutter and threw her brows heavenward. “He needn’t come. Day of surgery was a bit rough, but I shouldn’t say agony. There was never more surgical doings planned, never that.”
Whispers from onlookers floated about the small room.
“Mind you, I have the odd twinge of pain now and again.” Mrs. Hall rubbed her lower jaw. “But he needn’t come. I’m much better, nearly all well.”
“There you are.” Berdie made every effort for her words to be clearly heard. “You’re recovering just fine. Silly the way a simple event takes on a head of steam all its own, when in truth, it’s nothing more than empty air. Some things do get exaggerated.” Berdie shook her head. “You know, my simple interview with police near London was whipped up into my going to prison, if you can imagine.”
Mrs. Hall went a bit pink. “Well, I never.”
“No, I should think not.” Berdie smiled. “Now, I’ll tell Hugh that you’re right as rain. And I’m genuinely pleased that you’re better, Mrs. Hall.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Elliott, I’m sure.” Mrs. Hall grinned, the results of her oral surgery clearly on view.
Berdie wasn’t sure there was such a thing as a group blush, but if there was, it happened that moment in the Copper Kettle.
And Villette Horn, at the cash register, was redder than most by the time Berdie stood before her.
“May we have two morning rolls, Mrs. Horn?” Berdie asked politely. “I know Lillie didn’t ask for them when she placed her order, but I’m feeling quite peckish.”
“I’ll bring them straightway.” Villette slipped meekly into the kitchen.
Berdie triumphantly returned to the table and all those present returned to speaking on other matters.
“You think you’re so clever,” Lillie cajoled as Berdie sat down.
“To quote the proverb, ‘two birds, one stone.’ And all done calmly and cordially.”
“Hugh would be proud.”
“I’d like to think so.”
Villette bustled out the kitchen door, holding two pink plates, each filled with a large morning roll. At the same time, the shop bell jingled and the door opened. Natty and Sandra entered.
“Shells, bells, and little fishes.” Villette smacked the rolls down before Berdie and Lillie.
“There’s a problem?” Lillie ventured.
“Our Batty Natty is going to fuss and carry on. You just watch.”
“How do you know that?” Berdie noticed Natty, who looked rou
nd, then frowned.
“I can’t keep the table she always sits at empty of customers on the off chance she’ll come in,” Villette huffed.
Sandra took Natty’s hand, but the old woman was having none of it. Her eyes stayed on the man and woman who sat at her table. She shuffled her feet and fingered the edge of her damp raincoat.
“Look at her—she’s a frightened lamb lost in the storm.” Villette crossed her arms.
“There’s an empty table, right near,” Lillie pointed out.
“Oh yes, but she won’t sit at it.”
Berdie watched Sandra try to coax her aunt to the vacant spot. Natty refused to move, her bottom lip protruding like a perch on a birdhouse.
“How can she possibly expect the table to be empty anytime she chooses?” Villette was piqued. “Does she consult Madame Baltazar before she leaves home?”
“Mrs. Horn,” Berdie quipped. “Madame Baltazar? Such foolishness.”
“But you must admit, Berdie, it is an unfair expectation,” Lillie countered.
Berdie felt a bolt of lightning strike her brain, a sizzle of fresh realization, and it wasn’t from the storm outside.
She grabbed the edge of the table. “What did you say, Lillie?”
“I said that Natty can’t expect the table to be available every—”
“That’s it,” Berdie almost yelled. “Lillie, you’re a genius.”
“Am I?”
“Is she?” Villette echoed.
“Something missing, Old Barn Road, smoke: If it walks like a duck. And that’s the truth.”
Lillie and Villette stared at Berdie.
“My dear Lillie, you’ve hit the nail on the head.”
“What are you on about?” Villette asked.
“Lillie, we’ve got to find Sundeep’s mobile.”
“What? How?”
“Mrs. Horn, please bag the rolls.” Berdie grabbed her umbrella.
“But I’ve only just brought them.”
“Berdie?” Now Lillie looked like a lost sheep. “What on earth?”
“Old Barn Road,” Berdie zipped, “we’re going to Old Barn Road.”
Villette took the roll-laden plates up. “And I thought Batty Natty was barmy.” She hustled off.
“Why are we going to Old Barn Road? It’s raining, and besides, I’m hungry.”
“Eat on the way, Lillie. We’ll take care of some business, walk to the church, and take the Edsel and Sons work van from there.” Berdie jumped from her seat. “Quickly.”
“Are you sure we can use the work van for something that isn’t church related?” Lillie stood and buttoned her coat.
“Oh, but it is church related, my dear Lillie. It most certainly is.”
12
Outside the Copper Kettle, Berdie and Lillie ran headlong into the crowd gathered at the Meat Mobile, an invention created by Mr. Raheem in conjunction with Cathcart Carlisle farm. An old ice-cream van had been converted into a mobile butcher’s shop that parked in front of Raheem’s grocery store twice weekly. It was a win-win for both the businessmen and the community. They sold high-quality food at knockdown prices. And despite the rain, plus bumping umbrellas, the road was full of customers.
“Lillie”—Berdie quickstepped her way through the crowd with Lillie behind—“go ask Mr. Raheem just what stops Sundeep was to make on his delivery run last Saturday. Get as much detail as you can.”
“Right. OK. I’m sure he’s extremely busy, but I’ll do my best. And what are you doing?”
“Jumping the queue.”
While Lillie pushed through to the grocer’s shop, Berdie planted herself at the side of the villager currently getting her order at the Meat Mobile service window.
“There you are, Mrs. LaGrange.” Bill Carlisle handed the woman a full-to-bursting carrier bag.
“Thanks, Mr. Carlisle.”
The middle-aged man, who wore upon his skin the endless hours of working his stock outdoors, gazed upon Berdie.
“Mrs. Elliott, and how are things at the vicarage?”
“Better, thank you, Bill.”
Bill shifted his eyes to the gentleman who was next in the queue. He held an umbrella with one hand and read the folded Kirkwood Gazette in the other. The fellow nodded his head.
“So what you be needin’?” Bill asked Berdie.
“Kind of you,” Berdie thanked the customer behind as she squeezed to the service window. “I’ll be quick, as I’m on a mercy dash,” she explained. “Actually, I need some information. Can you tell me who lives next your farm on Old Barn Road?”
“Arthur Georgeson and his family. Why?”
“No one named Bryant?”
“The Georgesons have been on that land for years.”
“There’s nothing between your farm and his farm?”
“No. Constable Goodnight asked the same thing, and some young Yard detective as well, just a couple days back. I told them just what I’ve told you.” Bill Carlisle wiped his hands on his bloodstained work apron.
Berdie heard a woman’s muffled voice come from somewhere inside the vehicle.
“What?” Bill bellowed.
Mrs. Carlisle stuck her head round her husband’s shoulder. Her straight hair framed the sun-kissed face that sported just a blush of lipstick. “Arthur Georgeson’s cousin has that summer cottage, sits down the field in the wood,” she touted.
“His cousin sold that place years back. Been abandoned. None but hedgehogs living in that hovel, and that’s if they’re not picky,” Bill grumbled.
His wife bristled. “Farley Moss said he saw someone working on it a few months ago, and they were doing it up for a holiday let.”
“Well, I didn’t see anyone,” Bill argued. “And Farley always has his gob in, doesn’t know what he’s talking about half the time. Besides, you get to that spot off Littlewoods Lane.”
The buxom woman came from behind her husband. “There’s that track, goes back there from Old Barn.”
“No, there isn’t.”
Mrs. Carlisle’s lips tightened. “You tellin’ me I’m blind and thick?”
“Now, I didn’t say that, Stella.”
The woman tipped her head out the window toward Berdie. “There’s a winding track goes back from the hedgerow on Old Barn Road, overgrown, but it’s there. A gatepost and gate right there. Hard to see, yes, and seldom used, but there you go.” The woman pulled back to face her husband. “And don’t you say otherwise, Bill Carlisle.”
The man behind Berdie cleared his throat and someone farther down the queue shouted, “What’s taking so long?”
“Both of you have been tremendously helpful,” Berdie said, hoping to restore peace. “And I’ll take two pounds of your fresh beef mince, please,” she requested almost apologetically.
“Right you are, Mrs. Elliott.” Bill got right to it.
Berdie smiled at the fellow behind her. “Thank you again.”
The man lowered his paper and simply offered a pasted smile that may have just as well been a bee sting in return.
Bill handed Berdie the packaged mince while his wife disappeared again. “It’s added to the slate,” he quipped.
“Good. Thank you,” Berdie rushed. “God go with you.”
She trudged toward the greengrocers and found Lillie just outside.
“I’ve spoken with Mr. Raheem. Let’s get out of this mob,” Lillie insisted.
“The sooner the better,” Berdie agreed. “We’re on a mission.”
****
“This is Old Barn Road, and the Cathcart Carlisle farm is over there.” Berdie tried to point while driving the work van on the narrow, single carriageway country lane.
“Yes, we’ve established that,” Lillie said with an edge in her voice. “Slow down some—the rain makes it difficult to see.”
“If I go any slower, we won’t be moving at all.” Berdie glanced out her window. “Now, the Georgesons are at the very bottom of this road.”
“Berdie, this is at least the fou
rth time we’ve had this conversation.” Lillie took the last bite of her morning roll. “There are no gaps or gates in the hedgerow.”
“There has to be. Mrs. Carlisle said.”
“OK. Let’s go over this again from the top. Mr. Raheem said the delivery request Saturday was for the full grocery box to be left on Old Barn Road, next to the Carlisle property, at the gatepost that had a long white ribbon tied to it.”
“Yes. That’s the gatepost Mrs. Carlisle referred to, I’m sure.”
“No white ribbon. Do you see one? It’s not there.” Lillie took a breath. “Mr. Raheem stated that the request for the itemized list of food came by post, prepaid cash, no return address, with those specific instructions: a white ribbon.”
“Well, perhaps they only have the ribbon attached for special situations. Does that look like a possible gap?” Berdie opened her window and pointed to a spot she hoped might be a break in the tight scramble of bush that constituted the hedgerow.
Lillie didn’t even glance toward the indicated direction. “Mrs. Carlisle said it was a holiday let, right? If this building even exists, the people who wanted the food could have come and gone by now.”
“Rather coy, secretive even, and a white ribbon? That does not sound like holidaymakers.” Berdie stomped on the brakes, lurching Lillie forward.
“What are you doing, Berdie?”
“There’s a lay-by here.” Berdie swung the van onto the small patch of dirt at the side of the road. “Sundeep had to walk the hedgerow to find the post, and that’s when he lost his phone, I’m sure of it. We’ve got to walk it too. Let’s set to, Lillie.”
“It’s raining.”
“Well spotted, Watson.”
“My trousers are dry-clean only. I don’t want to ruin them in the rain, and I haven’t boots. My shoes aren’t made to scramble about in wet weeds.”
Berdie eyed Lillie’s clothing. “That’s a poor choice for being out on a rainy day.”
“If you remember,” Lillie whipped, “I dressed this morning to meet you at the Copper Kettle for tea. I hadn’t any idea we’d be foraging in the wilds.”
“Yes, you’re right. Sorry.” Berdie sighed. She decided she’d have to trek on her own when a thought came to her. She brightened. “Laundry.”
Enigma of Fire Page 17
