“I’m terribly confused,” Annabelle said, exasperation evident in her voice. “It’s like a tangled ball of wool that just grows ever more knotted the more I pull at it.”
“That’s a good analogy,” Nicholls smiled.
Annabelle laughed softly. “I like analogies. I use them all the time in my sermons. Helps me communicate what I’m trying to say.” They walked on for a bit in silence, each lost in their own thoughts.
They heard a car behind them and turned to see Roger roll up.
“Hello again, Bumble, Mike,” he said.
“Get Bonnie off to school, okay?” the Inspector asked.
“Er, yes. What are you two up to?”
“I’m showing Mike around. We’ve just bumped into Pip Craven. I’ll tell you about it later.”
“Oh, I’ll look forward to that. I’m sure it was an interesting conversation. Would you like a lift to the church? I’m going to Jamie Froggatt’s to set up his new router!”
“No, we’ll walk, thanks Roger,” Annabelle said.
“Righty-ho. I hope we’ll see you for dinner later, Mike.” Roger drove off, careful to avoid splashing the walkers with mud.
“Why do they call you ‘Bumble,’ Annabelle?” The Inspector eyed her curiously but with a smile.
“Er, because I’m always busy,” she said quickly. “Busy. Bees. Honey. Sweet.” She held her breath for a moment.
“Ah.” He seemed satisfied with the explanation. Annabelle relaxed. Nicholls said, “Look, you’ve uncovered a lot of information. There are always some gaps in a case. Whenever I find myself with a mass of details and no bigger picture, I just try to ask myself the right questions – the kinds of questions I already have the answers for in my pile of details but which just need sifting.”
“I’m filled with questions, Mike!” Annabelle exclaimed. “That’s precisely the problem!”
“Let’s try this: I’ll ask the questions. You give me the answers,” he responded calmly.
“Okay.”
“Who knew that you had the jewelry box?”
“Nobody! Well, me and Felicity.”
“What about the girls she was playing with when she found it? Did they know?”
“No. She didn’t tell them.”
“Could someone have seen her bring it to you?”
“She had wrapped it in a cloth. It looked like an old bundle. Nothing more.” Annabelle stopped and clapped her hands. She turned to the Inspector, her eyes wide. “Of course! I showed the pictures to Harry before the jewelry was stolen. He knew!” Her eyes gleamed for a moment but then her shoulders dropped and she shook her head. “No. That doesn’t make sense. He didn’t know that I had stored them at the church.”
“Hold on now,” Nicholls said. “Show me these pictures.”
She pulled out her phone and brought them up. She handed the phone to the Inspector.
He scrolled through the images. “Here, look,” he said, giving the phone back to Annabelle and pointing at one in particular.
“Oh! That’s just one of the bad pictures I took. You can’t see anything, it’s all blurry.”
“You can see more than you think,” Nicholls said. “At the top of the photo there, you can see a window. One with vertical bars on it. And to the side there is part of a closet. You said Harry was at the service, that he had a tradition of playing out the congregation. My guess is that he’s also pretty familiar with the office. You never know, perhaps he shared a malt whisky or two with Father Boyce in there. He’d surely know that the window had bars. Anyway, Harry would know enough to recognize where those pictures were taken, I’ll bet.”
“Yes! You’re right!” Annabelle said, in amazement. “You are a marvel, Mike! That must be it!”
Nicholls looked at his feet. “It’s nothing. I’m a detective. It’s my job,” he mumbled.
“So Harry must have realized that I had the jewelry in the church safe and broke in to steal them sometime on Sunday afternoon. That would explain why the tool that was used to wedge the church doors apart was found on his body!”
“Right. Perhaps he was the person who had hidden the jewelry box away in the abandoned house in the first place. Or perhaps he was just a common thief and saw an opportunity to make some money.”
“Yes,” Annabelle said, feeling her thoughts swirling like leaves in a whirlwind, “so Harry broke in to the church, and then sought out a hiding place along the rocky beach. But we still don’t know how the jewelry that was apparently stolen from Felicity’s mother on the mainland ended up right here on the island. Nor does it bring us any closer to understanding who killed the chap. Or who’s trying to sell the jewelry now.”
St. Kilda’s had come into view, and Nicholls stopped for a moment to look up at the building.
“That’s an old church,” he said.
“Yes, it is,” Annabelle said, her thoughts still swimming. “Nearly two hundred years old. Not as old as St. Mary’s, though. That was built in the fifteenth century. The buildings here don’t last that long. The climate is too harsh.”
Nicholls began walking again. “St. Mary’s is more attract—“
He stopped. Annabelle wasn’t alongside him. Turning back, he saw her frozen in place, her face blank as she stared somewhere off to the side. He followed the direction of her gaze but saw nothing except an overgrown yard. “Annabelle? Are you okay?”
He walked back to her and noticed the glazed look in her eye.
“Kirsty,” she said dreamily, turning to him. “Kirsty’s the murderer.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
“ANNABELLE, WHAT ARE you talking about?” the Inspector said.
“That cottage over there. The one beside the apple tree is Kirsty’s. Felicity’s aunt’s. From the kitchen window you can see the church, and the path leading up to it, as clear as day.”
“That’s good information, but it’s not critical. You can’t pin a murder on someone for having a good view of a crime scene.”
“It’s not just that. She’s at the center of everything. The jewelry belonged to her sister, Moira. According to Kirsty, her sister had everything, and Kirsty had nothing. She has little money and is very bitter about how her life has turned out. She also had a cold relationship with Harry whom everyone else seemed to like. She’s computer-savvy. She was alone on Sunday. It all fits. Who else could it be?”
Nicholls looked from Annabelle over to the cottage, then back at the determined Vicar. “Coincidences and circumstances can make someone look guilty, but it’s never right to condemn someone without evidence.”
“Well,” Annabelle said, smartly, “there’s only one way to get it.”
Pushing her shoulders back, she began to stride purposefully toward the cottage. Nicholls watched her for a few moments. He considered that the Scottish air had affected Annabelle’s brain. Usually he was the one rushing off to prematurely convict someone.
“I guess this isn’t going to be much of a holiday for me after all,” he murmured, before dragging himself off in pursuit of a resolute Annabelle.
He caught up to her at the paint-chipped door of the cottage. Annabelle slammed the knocker so loudly the Inspector winced. He half-expected the rickety door to fall apart. Within moments Kirsty opened the door, her scowl revealing that she too had been alarmed at the ferocity of Annabelle’s banging.
“Vicar,” she said.
“Hello, Kirsty,” Annabelle replied.
Kirsty’s eyes darted from the Vicar to the tall man beside her. “Who’s this?”
“This is Detective Inspector Nicholls,” Annabelle said stoutly.
“My name’s Mike,” Nicholls said, “since I’m off-duty.” He gave Annabelle a pointed look.
“We’ve come to speak to you about something important,” Annabelle said, ignoring him. “May we come in?”
Kirsty eyed the duo suspiciously.
“Very well,” she said, stepping aside to let them through, “but I’ve got to pick Felicity up from school shortl
y. Please make this quick.”
She led them to the living room, where the guests settled on an old sofa whose surface was pitted with the indentations of the many bottoms that had sat upon it. Kirsty stood in front of them.
“Would you like something to drink?”
“No, thank you,” Nicholls replied.
“So?” Kirsty sat in an armchair, a tartan blanket tossed across its back. She clasped her hands in her lap.
“I believe Harry was the person who broke into the church and stole the jewelry box.”
“Oh, do you now?” Kirsty said, unemotionally. “Well, I wouldn’t put it past him.”
“You don’t – didn’t – like Harry much, did you?” Annabelle said.
“Must I like everyone on the island? Harry always had a greedy, nasty streak that most people are foolish enough to be blind to.”
“But you’re not?” Nicholls asked.
Kirsty shifted her narrow eyes to the Inspector.
“Are you implying something?”
“You didn’t seem terribly surprised to see those pieces of jewelry when I showed you pictures of them,” Annabelle said.
“Why should I have been?”
“Well, the jewelry had been stolen on the mainland several years ago, according to you. It would be quite strange to learn they were back on the island. And coincidental.”
“Nothing to do with my sister would surprise me. She could come back from the dead, and I’d believe it.”
“Do you think your sister could have lied about the theft on the mainland? Annabelle charged.
Kirsty stiffened.
“Let’s suppose your sister was a little economical with the truth,” the Inspector said, putting his hand up to placate the two women, “and that the jewelry never left the island. Did she tell you anything about that?”
“Pfft!” Kirsty spluttered, her umbrage at the idea too strong to stay silent. “Fat chance! And you’re implying that I covered for her. I most certainly would not do that!”
Annabelle closed her eyes momentarily and took a deep breath.
“Harry, then?”
“Mebbe, if she was stupid enough to be duped by him,” Kirsty said. “But the jewelry was stolen on the mainland,” she added, her eyes darting quickly between her inquisitors.
“Are you sure that’s what happened, Kirsty? It’s a pretty big coincidence that her jewelry was stolen in Edinburgh and turned up here years later,” Mike said.
Kirsty said nothing.
“Could Moira have been in cahoots with Harry over the jewelry?” Mike asked.
Kirsty said, “If that’s what happened, if Moira did give the jewelry to Harry, it would make me mad. As mad as hell. But it didn’t happen. Not to my knowledge. The jewelry was stolen on the mainland and disappeared. Until you showed me those photos yesterday, that’s all I knew.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
ANNABELLE AND MIKE stood outside Kirsty’s cottage, each silently mulling over their conversation with Kirsty. The sun was still shining brightly, drying the last of the soggy mud on the path. The air seemed clearer and more refreshing after the storm, but their thoughts were distracted and heavy.
“I feel certain she had something to do with Harry’s murder, Mike,” Annabelle said.
“Maybe, but there’s no evidence. Like I’ve said to you before, we can’t accuse someone based on a feeling.”
Annabelle sighed. “What shall we do now?” she asked. She was frustrated. She felt sure there was more to find out from Kirsty.
Nicholls pursed his lips. “Tell you what. How about we forget all about this case and go take a walk on the beach? You know, just for fun. Because I’m on leave, holiday, vacation. And so are you.”
“Perfect! We can take a look at where the body was found when we get there.” She might have been crestfallen after their fruitless interview with Kirsty, but Annabelle was immediately like a bloodhound on the scent again.
Mike sighed but resignedly pushed himself off the stone wall against which he’d been leaning.
His attention was caught by something in his peripheral vision. He flicked his eyes away from Annabelle to a spot behind her, high up on the hill that led to the church. In a flash, his expression changed from one of contemplation to one of horror. He looked back and saw the cottage window wide open.
“Is that…?” Annabelle mumbled, as she squinted to make out the running figure.
“Kirsty? I think it is,” the Inspector cried, a second before sprinting up the hill.
Both of them ran with every ounce of strength they could muster. They sliced through the brisk, cold wind with powerful, urgent strides, but the figure of the woman disappeared behind the kirk before they could reach her. They ran up the path that led to the church and then quickly around the side and along the back of it, hands out-stretched to pull on the corners of the building for guidance and leverage. Their feet sent chips of gravel flying.
They ran along the cliff path and could see the coastline for a mile ahead of them. Beyond that they saw the larger islands of Fenbarra, and to the north, Serk. They stopped suddenly.
“Where did she go?” Nicholls asked, panting heavily as he scanned the vast horizon.
“I don’t know. I don’t see her,” Annabelle answered.
“Damnit!” Nicholls shouted, kicking at the ground angrily.
“Why would she run? What is she going to do?”
“Something stupid, no doubt,” Nicholls answered, furiously.
“Hold on,” Annabelle said, stepping forward, a hand over her eyes to shade them. “I think that’s her!”
“Where?” Nicholls said, moving beside her.
Annabelle pointed at a rocky outcrop in the distance, and the realization hit both of them at once, so obvious, and so terrifying that it needed no words. They sprang forward once more, even more determination and speed in their strides now that they recognized what was at stake.
It was mossy underfoot. The springy, gently rolling ground sapped their strength. Nevertheless, with blood thumping loudly in their ears, they persisted, their limbs fueled by the urgency of the situation.
To Mike and Annabelle, the pale-blue sky, the bright green grass lush from all the rain, and the gentle sloshing of the waves in the ocean below now seemed more ominous than tranquil. The wind pressed against their bodies, changing direction frequently as if it were struggling to decide whether to help or hinder them. Annabelle’s mouth felt dry from the heavy exertion, and the Inspector’s legs began to ache.
Kirsty stood motionless on the very edge of the outcrop, her arms outstretched, apparently oblivious to her pursuers.
As they came within earshot of the woman on the edge, Annabelle screamed her name. It felt, to Annabelle, like she was screaming with the very last breath that remained in her body. “Kirsty!”
The woman spun around quickly, her hair windswept behind her, her face a picture of surprise and exasperation.
“Stop there!” Kirsty cried. “Don’t come any closer!”
Mike and Annabelle, skidded to a stop within twelve feet of the cliff’s edge.
“What are you doing, Kirsty?” the Inspector shouted fighting to make himself heard against the noise of the wind.
“What do you think I’m doing?” snarled the woman in reply, puffing out her chest and raising her chin in defiance. “What I was too stupid to do years ago! What I should have done before any of this happened!”
“What did happen, Kirsty? Tell us what happened?” Annabelle cried.
Kirsty gazed absently across the green expanse behind them. From where she stood she could just see the thick trunk of the apple tree that grew strong and powerful next to her house, even as it rose out from among the creeping weeds.
“Moira. Stupid girl!” Kirsty shouted, the timbre of her voice hard and angry. “All she knew how to do was spend money and have the time of her life. When things started going bad for Ben, he stopped giving her money, asked her to reign her spending in. I thou
ght, ‘Good, maybe she’ll learn some responsibility.’ Hah! More fool me. All the pieces of jewelry were gifts from Ben – he was a good husband to her, she didn’t deserve him – but she wanted more money so she could spend it all on other rubbish she didn’t need.” Kirsty stared mulishly at Annabelle and Mike. Neither moved a muscle.
“So did she sell them?” Annabelle inquired, her face open and her tone even despite her terror.
Kirsty grunted derisively. “That would have been too simple for Moira. She was always trying to be clever. That’s what happens when you’re very pretty. You never get the blame. You get away with murder, and no one calls you on it. In the end, you think you’re untouchable. Moira certainly did.” Kirsty’s nostrils flared, and she raked at her forearms with her fingernails.
She continued, “No. Harry convinced her that she could make more money by reporting them stolen and claiming the insurance. Harry would take the jewelry and use his connections to sell them abroad, then give Moira a cut of that too, as well as have a tidy little profit for himself. A real pair of underhanded clever-clogs they were.”
“How do you know all this?” called Annabelle. “Did Moira tell you?”
“Moira told me everything. Couldn’t stop talking about herself, could she? Her wonderful this, her beautiful that. But she didn’t tell me about this money scheme of hers. Harry must have got his dirty claws deep into her. I found out later.” A gust of wind caught her hair, and she turned her head to allow the strong breeze to clear her face before turning back to look at Annabelle. She continued speaking, but her voice was lower this time. Annabelle and Mike leaned in closer in order to hear her.
“I was at Harry’s house, fixing his computer. The thing was a mess, but all it needed was a bit of a clean-up. I was unplugging it, sorting out his cables, and one of them led behind a bookshelf. I moved the bookshelf to get at it – and there it was, the jewelry box. I recognized it straight away,” Kirsty sighed. “I’d thought a lot of times about that box of jewelry and had wondered what happened to it. It was just another thing to Moira.” Her voice rose. “To me, that box of jewelry would have been a life-changing experience!” As she spoke, Kirsty’s rage boiled over.
Horror in the Highlands (A Reverend Annabelle Dixon Cozy Mystery Book 5) Page 13
