Enigma of Fire

by Marilyn Leach

  “And his young caretaker,” Chad added. “Not short of substance, that one.”

  “Yes, well, I’ll be back in a shot. I want to just be sure my men get that she-wolf settled in the police vehicle securely.”

  “Yes,” Berdie acknowledged.

  The moment Kent left, Berdie moved close to Chad. She wanted to speak to him about a discovery she made while putting the picture together of what had happened in the past twenty-four hours.

  “Have you read the book?” She studied Chad.

  He shifted his weight and lifted his chin. “What?”

  “Cloak of Deception, the exposé on intelligence operations by an author named S. N. Flow.”

  Chad looked away.

  “You know, I recently had a revelation. The commander had a copy of the book on his bedside table in the guest bedroom. I studied the cover. Flow is an anagram. Look at it in the mirror and it spells Wolf.”

  Chad swallowed and tapped a finger against his thigh.

  “Switch the S and N and you have it. N S Wolf. Ennis Wolf is the deserter who defected to the insurgents. It’s he who penned this exposé.”

  “You have a fertile imagination.” Chad’s voice was quiet.

  “You know it, I know it, and quite frankly, I think all the fellows know it now that they’ve read the book, including the commander. But no one speaks of it. When did you become aware?”

  Chad stared at the floor. “Ennis has a family, children who are proud of him and his service.”

  “He betrayed all of you.”

  Chad took a deep breath and swallowed hard.

  “You’ve known a long while he was the mole. He leaked his information to the gutter press, to be published on his death. Did you know that part?”

  Chad frowned. “Would anyone in their right mind let information like that be exposed?”

  “The commander got the wrong man when he made those unthinkable accusations toward you. I believe he knows that now.”

  Chad was poker-faced and still.

  “Now, our conversation on this subject is done, and I’ll not speak of it again. Whatever needs to be done is up to you and your fellows.”

  Chad sighed in obvious relief that this discussion was ended.

  “It sounds like you may possibly have a job offer.”

  Chad smiled.

  Chief Inspector Kent reentered the room, Hugh with him. “Now then, she’s settled in for her free ride to the nick.”

  “And so she should be.” Hugh sighed.

  Berdie became aware of a very large presence at the back door.

  “Reporting for duty, as you asked,” Constable Albert Goodnight all but shouted, looking less than sharp in his wrinkled uniform.

  “You’re late,” Kent rebuked.

  “Yes, well, sorry about that, sir.” Goodnight ran a finger down his uniform buttons. “It’s just that the missus’s sister needed a lift to the train station. Well, that and the fact that Tottenham’s cup game went into extra time.”

  Kent’s jaw fell.

  Berdie almost expected as much.

  Goodnight’s cheeks bulged for smiling like a schoolboy on half term. “They won. One-nil.”

  “You’re a Spurs supporter then.” Chad was making light of it.

  “Up the Lilliewhites.” Goodnight bounced and rubbed his hands together. “So, have I missed anything?”

  15

  “Now, tell me again, Mrs. Elliott, how much are these going for?”

  Mrs. Hall added her currant scones, one by one, to the other baked goods that graced the table while she squinted against the sun.

  Berdie adjusted the large sign on the tent pole that read St. Aidan of the Woods Parish Church Treats Available for Donations. “All funds go to Help for Heroes.”

  “God bless our military. Yes, now I remember donations. I thought Mrs. Fairchild was to man this stall.”

  “I’m sure she’ll be here soon,” Berdie said with careful optimism. “The final boat race takes place soon.”

  “It’s a beautiful day for our Whitsun Regatta, all the churches and their stalls offering such fun.”

  “Indeed, Mrs. Hall.”

  The woman finished her task and grinned widely, advancing the fact that she had made a full recovery from her dental surgery.

  “And before I toddle off, may I say, well done catching that bomb culprit. Who would have ever suspected such a pretty little thing?”

  “Yes, she had me fooled for a time too. But you know those old words of wisdom, Mrs. Hall. Judging books by their covers, and all that.”

  “I’ve wondered how she could have managed to plant a device on a vehicle in such a small village with no one seeing her.”

  “That’s probably the tragic part of it, Mrs. Hall—we’re a small village.”

  Mrs. Hall knit her brow.

  “As a guest at the vicarage, she had fine village credentials, if you see what I mean.”

  “Oh yes, I understand what you’re saying.”

  “I thought Tillie, who seemed so devoted as a caregiver, needed to enjoy the company of some people. So, when Matthew Reese mentioned he was having a party, I sent Tillie along. It was that night, the evening before the explosion, that she set the frightful device in place.”

  “And isn’t that terrible?” Mrs. Hall clucked.

  “She arrived home from the party near midnight, or so I thought, because I heard her come in. But once the wheels of suspicion began to turn in my mind, late in the game, I’m afraid, I called Matthew, who told me Tillie had left the party just past ten. What was Tillie doing out and about for two hours?”

  “She had the explosive materials with her?”

  “Originally, she carried them in her suitcase, and then buried the lot, we discovered later, on the edge of church property near your herb garden.”

  “Oh dear.” Mrs. Hall put her hand to her cheek. Her camel eyes enlarged. “How absolutely frightful.”

  “Remember how Sparks delighted in digging in your garden? His damaged nose was a bit off, but there it is.”

  “Yes, quite.” The woman still looked a bit dazed.

  “And it’s all behind us now, Mrs. Hall,” Berdie reminded and encouraged. “You are safe as houses.”

  She brightened. “Yes, well, we can all breathe easier. We’re all grateful, indeed for the work of the authorities, but especially for your part in putting it all together.”

  “I’m afraid a great deal of time and energy was spent chasing smoke, as Chief Inspector Kent put it, but we got there in the end.” Berdie beamed.

  “Yes, you did indeed.”

  Memories of questioning herself about her God-given capacities to investigate surfaced in Berdie’s mind, and they got a good mental kick in the backside. “Thank you, Mrs. Hall. With God’s help, I do my best.”

  “Well, must get on. I’m meeting my nephew at St. Matthew’s booth, the Coconut Shy. Imagine. A dentist, and he still fancies trying to knock things off their pedestal to win silly prizes.”

  “That’s what regattas are all about, Mrs. Hall. Who knows, perhaps you’ll have a stuffed bear to take home with you in the end.”

  The woman giggled. “Do enjoy your afternoon,” she offered and departed.

  “God go with you.”

  The satisfaction of a village back in proper order filled Berdie. The commander was improving daily, Avril at his side, Sparks was regaining health, and thank God above, Martha and Milton were still caring for him. Villette had toned down her passing of unverified information, and the Raheems welcomed Sundeep into their home once again.

  Berdie hummed the words that still danced in her head from yesterday’s Whitsun Sunday Service.

  “Come, Holy Ghost, our souls inspire, and lighten with celestial fire.” She placed some especially sticky cakes smothered with pink icing to the front of the display where passersby would be attracted. “Thy blessed unction from above is comfort, life, and fire of love.”

  Though the fabric canopy overhead cover
ed the table, with some room going spare, Berdie stepped into the full sun, where she adjusted her wide-brimmed straw hat and relished the almost-summer warmth. She inhaled the lake air and briefly let her eyes, now adorned with her new tortoiseshell glasses, shut. “Lovely,” she breathed.

  But when she opened her eyes, what she saw wasn’t lovely at all.

  Albert Goodnight trekked before her as she had never seen him before. A bright blue shirt, awash with palm leaves and white flowers, topped Bermuda-style shorts that did nothing to glamorize his bulging, hairy knees. His face was nothing more than dark, oversized sunglasses and mustache. And trailing after was the entire family.

  “You be goin’ to a fire, Albert?” Harriet Goodnight, dressed in similar fashion as her husband, plus a beach hat, bellowed. She toted a cooler box that looked to weigh nearly as much as she.

  Jonathan, the oldest Goodnight child, followed behind her, carrying several folding garden chairs under his arms. “Come along, you lot,” the young man commanded the three little squealing Goodnights that came after. Dressed in swimming costumes, they played about, just keeping pace.

  “On a beach outing then,” Berdie said, just audible.

  “Aren’t they just?”

  Berdie was so taken in by the sight of the parading Goodnight clan that she hadn’t noticed Lillie’s arrival.

  “Has Presswood Lake become Brighton Beach?” Lillie ribbed.

  “For them it has,” Berdie contended. “They’re having a grand time just as they are.”

  The constable spotted Berdie. “Mrs. Elliott.” He raised his sunglasses just long enough to take in the table of delicious treats she stood near. He plopped the black lenses back in place. “Come along, kids.” He took steps toward Berdie, all Goodnights following behind.

  “County congratulated me for job well done in resolving the bombing case.”

  “Did they?” Berdie couldn’t hide her surprise.

  “Well, me and the Yard.”

  Ah.

  “It’s my first real day off work in weeks,” he announced.

  “I didn’t know village constables got days off.” Berdie watched the youngest child catch up her father.

  “Well, this one does today.”

  The young girl, for all the world a miniature Albert, minus the mustache of course, eyed the pink frosted cakes while standing next her father. Berdie could see from the youngster’s stare what was next. The small child stretched out her hand.

  “Mind our fingers,” Berdie said too late as the little one plunged several appendages into the pink goo.

  “Beani, get your hand out of that. Look what your daughter has done,” Albert said to the now-arrived Mrs. Goodnight.

  “We can’t take you anywhere, Benicia Noreen,” Harriet squawked.

  As Beani put the cake to her lips, the two other children, who resembled their mother, also made a grab for a treat.

  “Howard, Maisie,” Mrs. Goodnight fired so loudly that Howard dropped his goodie in the dirt.

  “Beani got one,” Maisie moaned and set her cake back on the table, while Howard commenced crying.

  “Yeah,” Jonathon added. “It’s not fair. We should all get one.”

  Albert Goodnight took a raisin scone to hand. “Why not then?” He bit into his nosh.

  Berdie refused to step back from the table while mass chaos ensued.

  Howard grabbed the same cake as Jonathan, and a shouting match proceeded, which Lillie tried to moderate. Mrs. Goodnight retrieved Howard’s dropped cake that had gone icing-first into the soil and, in vain, tried to wipe the dirt off. She mutely returned it to the table. Maisie grabbed a different treat than she had previously and chomped it to nearly half gone. And once Jonathon and Howard came to peaceful agreement, they each took a different treat while Beani stuck her finger into yet another teacake.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Elliott,” the off-duty officer said between bites of his scone and appeared to beeline for the shoreline.

  “Constable Goodnight,” Berdie flared.

  He grinned as he looked her way.

  She pointed to the donations sign. “If you please.”

  “Harriet,” he barked and continued on his way like the Pied Piper and all his little pests following.

  Mrs. Goodnight dug into her pocket, dropped two pounds into a provided bucket, and took a scone for herself on the fly. “Ta.”

  Berdie looked after the departing troop with dismay. “Two quid?”

  Lillie gathered the damaged and fingered goods, and then abruptly tossed the lot into the rubbish bag. “Oh, let them be,” she mocked. “They’re having a grand time as they are.”

  “Lock up the ice cream and banish the prizes.”

  Lillie laughed. “We’re down by eleven cakes, and two pounds to show for the lot.”

  “At that rate our veterans will be dining on egg and chips every meal.”

  “Others will be more generous, I’m sure,” Lillie forecasted.

  “Yes, from your mouth to God’s ear.”

  “Where’s Maggie?” Lillie asked.

  “I’m expecting her any moment, I hope. You’re a bit late yourself.”

  Lillie sheltered a tiny yawn. “Out late with Loren last night.”

  Berdie watched the myriads of people enjoy the multiple stalls sponsored by churches from the surrounding area, as well as schools, businesses, and special-interest clubs. A small stage was set up near the dock at water’s edge where boats readied for the final heat. Hugh and crew had qualified and were in high spirits.

  “Mrs. Elliott, I’m here at last,” Maggie Fairchild sang out. Her pink straw hat framed a lovely smile that sent her eyes into dancing quarter moons. “My ride was a bit late. And hello, Miss Foxworth.”

  Berdie found it impossible to charge the kind woman with the lateness of her arrival. “Welcome.”

  “Oh, two pounds already,” she observed with glee.

  Berdie didn’t explain the details. “I should expect much more by this evening.”

  “Yes, indeed.” Maggie planted herself in a garden chair near the table. “Don’t let me keep you. I’m sure you both want to watch the races. Fingers crossed for Reverend Elliott.”

  “Thank you, Maggie. Guard the rolls with your life.”

  Maggie chuckled. She didn’t know that Berdie was half serious.

  Lillie took Berdie’s elbow. “The final heat isn’t for a while yet. Come with me to see Loren at the first-aid tent.”

  “Oh, Lillie, you do invite me to the most exciting places.”

  Lillie laughed as she and Berdie walked to the tent that displayed a large red cross atop the doorway.

  When they arrived, Loren was applying a cold pack to a child’s swollen eye. “He had an altercation with a tent pole,” Loren explained.

  “Looks as if the tent pole won.” Lillie smiled at the rather embarrassed father.

  He simply nodded.

  “Keep that cold pack on for a while yet,” Loren directed father and son. “Give him children’s pain-relief medication as necessary. And a bit of quiet rest wouldn’t go amiss.”

  “Thank you, Doctor,” the father said and left with son in tow.

  “My usual patients can’t breathe, yet alone speak a thank you.” He beamed at Lillie and Berdie. “Now, let’s see what the doctor’s diagnosis is for you two.” Loren pointed at Lillie. “You need hot coffee to revive you from our late dinner last night.” He looked at Berdie. “And you need rest for all the work your brain has done in bringing justice to our pretty little village. Right?”

  “The doctor’s always right,” Lillie twittered.

  “My brain is content with the outcome of its work. No extra rest necessary at the moment.”

  “Quite startling that Tillie was the avenging bomber,” Loren went on while fingering the penlight in his shirt pocket. “When was it that you twigged it, Berdie?”

  “Really, not until the end.”

  “I’m all ears,” Loren said, cleaning up after his patient.
>
  “I suppose it began in earnest when Lillie and I discovered the Limb family. I realized Hugh was the target. But it was when Hugh told me about the botched military attack where he was in charge that I began to turn suspicion onto his mates.”

  “That made you consider Doug Devlin?”

  “Yes, all of the fellows, really. It pained me, but it was too much of a coincidence that they were all gathered when the attempt on Hugh’s life was made. The greatest suspicion fell on Doug. Yet Hugh was adamant that Doug was not the culprit. He was sure there were no ill feelings there, and I had a certain amount of confidence in Hugh’s trust.”

  “Still, how did you connect it to Tillie?”

  Berdie took a deep breath. “All villains make mistakes.”

  Loren’s eyes narrowed. “And what was her biggest, would you say?”

  Berdie tapped her finger on her lips. “The book, I’d say. Well, that in connection with Sundeep’s lock on his hideaway door.”

  “Sundeep’s lock? Oh, come now, how’s that possible?” Lillie almost scoffed.

  “Remember it, Lillie? He created it after reading a library book on how to do it, he told me. That was the first wrinkle of thought that perhaps the poorly made bomb could have been made as a result of information from the web or perhaps from a book.”

  “The book, Tillie’s mandatory reading?” Lillie tipped her head. “At the B and B. She said it was a mystery.”

  “No, Lillie, you said it was a mystery and she agreed. It was the perfect chance for her to dodge the whole question.”

  Lillie’s eyes fluttered. “Oh. I made an assumption. It sounded like the title of a mystery.”

  “And it wasn’t at all. Cloak of Deception is an exposé, written by an intelligence operative who defected. And do you remember, Lillie, Doug’s reaction when he saw the book?”

  “Somehow odd, if I remember correctly.”

  “Tillie told us she was reading it for a class. Doug could not recall her ever mentioning the class before, because she hadn’t. She made him think his memory was failing, that she had told him and he forgot. She cast aspersions on Doug’s ability to retain information, making me imagine he may have lapses in his thinking which could create great damage.”