Death at the Café (A Reverend Annabelle Dixon Cozy Mystery Book 1)

by Alison Golden

  “Sit down, Vicar,” the Bishop said, dropping his smile and replacing it with a mean sneer. “Of course, I’m interested.”

  Annabelle sat back down.

  “But how do I know you have them? Can you prove it?”

  Damnit! The emeralds were at the police station. Annabelle should have asked DI Cutcliffe to give them to her as a negotiation tactic. She met the Bishop’s eye once again and laughed strongly.

  “Do you really think I’d bring them here? Ha! I’ve seen how far you’re willing to go for them, Bishop, and I was rather hoping to have my tea tonight in one piece!”

  The Bishop’s sneer grew into his sly grin once again.

  “Clever. But I’m not sure what you’re implying, Reverend. I’m simply an interested collector.”

  “Tosh!” Annabelle exclaimed, once again losing her decorum. “We both know that you’ve gone out of your way to get your hands on those emeralds!”

  “Do we?”

  “When your ‘inquiries’ about the emeralds were rejected, you decided to steal them and make Sister Mary take the blame. You even told us that somebody had stolen from Teresa previously and ‘gotten away with it.’ How would you know that unless you were the very person who had stolen from Teresa before?”

  “Teresa was a friend of mine. She told me.”

  “I believe that about as much as I believe that you tried to help us!”

  The Bishop chuckled to himself at the memory of how easily he had double-crossed Annabelle and Mary.

  “So you put Mary in touch with Teresa and waited for the perfect opportunity to steal the emeralds with Mary as the prime suspect. You underestimated the two women, however. Teresa, possibly suspecting something, arranged for her niece to meet Mary in a public space, and Lauren realized she was being spied upon. She wrote a note to hand over to Mary. You panicked and told your assassin to kill Lauren before she could reveal anything. However, Lauren still managed to hand over the note. The assassin even searched Lauren for it, but he found nothing.”

  “An interesting perspective,” the Bishop smirked.

  Annabelle waited for him to say more, and when he didn’t, she continued.

  “The perfect chance soon presented itself, however, when Mary and I went to Teresa’s house. At the first opportunity, your assassin killed Teresa with us next to her. Now he simply had to wait for the police to take us away or for us to leave so that he could enter and take the emeralds easily. The good news was that we left immediately, the bad news was that we had taken the emeralds with us.”

  “You know,” the Bishop said, examining his nails casually, “one thing puzzles me. You seemed so unaware that you had the emeralds upon you, I almost believed it. You are clever enough to lie, but Mary… she’s far too honest to have deceived everyone this well.”

  Annabelle grinned. “The truth is, we didn’t know. Teresa baked the emeralds into a cake which she gave us.”

  The Bishop set his eyes upon Annabelle in an expression of pure disbelief. “Are you joking?”

  “Not at all, Bishop.”

  “Ha!” he exploded. “That’s precisely the sort of cunning thing Teresa would do. She was almost as wily as me – almost.”

  “Your assassin searched her apartment and found nothing, meaning that we had taken the emeralds. At a loss, you tried the direct approach, calling us to arrange a meeting and discern what we were doing.”

  “You seemed entirely ignorant of the entire affair when we spoke,” the Bishop added. “I did suspect that Teresa had somehow given you the emeralds or at least a clue as to where they were.”

  “At the time, we didn’t even know we had them,” Annabelle said.

  “Leaving me with two choices: To kill you and hope that you had them, or to follow you until I found out more.”

  “But if you killed us and we didn’t have them, you’d have lost the only chance of getting them.”

  “It was a conundrum, to be sure,” Bishop Murphy said. “But there’s one thing I never told you. Those emeralds originate from West Africa. I was sure Teresa wanted Mary to have them so that she could sell them and fund her hospital there. A sense of justice and charity was always her big weakness. It’s the very reason her ex-husband was so generous as to give them to her. I was certain you had them. I just didn’t know where.”

  “But you were confused by our meeting, when we didn’t seem to know anything about them.”

  “Confused, yes, and you were getting a little too close to the bone. You suspected that somebody was framing Mary, and you knew that I was the one who had put Mary into contact with Teresa. Not only did you have the emeralds I wanted, but you were a day or two away from incriminating me. If it were just Mary, as I had planned, I wouldn’t have been afraid, but you,” he pointed a finger toward Annabelle and looked down it, as if aiming a gun, “you were sure to cause me a lot of trouble.”

  “So you called DI Cutcliffe and told him that you were suspicious after speaking to us, in the hope he would find out what we didn’t even realize ourselves.”

  The Bishop opened his hands in a gesture of mock-apology. “I’m good with Cutcliffe. Once he discovered the emeralds, I could have easily persuaded him that they were my property, or at least I would have a head-start on knowing what the police would do with them once they took them from you. Better in police custody than the unpredictable hands of two religious women who didn’t even know what they had. Which makes me wonder, Reverend, how are you sitting here with me, when you should be locked up about now?”

  Annabelle squirmed in her seat.

  “I blamed Mary,” Annabelle said, though she found it a struggle to even say the words. “She was, after all, intended to take the blame for the murders your assassin committed, wasn’t she?”

  The Bishop laughed heartily. “Very clever, Reverend. Very clever indeed. You are as merciless and as sly a player of games as I. You will make a very intriguing Vicar, I should imagine. Now,” he said, slapping his hands upon the table, “let’s talk numbers shall we?”

  Annabelle balked. Though he had insinuated plenty, the Bishop hadn’t actually confessed to anything. Was this enough for DI Cutcliffe? Was it too late? She searched for something she could say which would force him to reply with a definitive answer, but the Bishop was intently waiting for her answer to his question.

  “Ah… Well… What are the lives of two women worth?”

  “You tell me, Reverend.”

  “Um…” Annabelle tried to think of a number that didn’t sound too preposterous. “Ten million pounds?”

  The Bishop’s face slowly twisted into an amazed smile, before breaking out into such a fit of laughter that he almost fell backwards from his chair.

  “Ten?! Haha! Ten million pounds?!” he bellowed, wiping tears from his eyes. “Oh dear!”

  “Is that too much?” Annabelle asked meekly.

  The comment instigated another, larger fit of laughter from the Bishop.

  “Stop! Stop it! Haha!” he wailed, struggling to calm his loud uproar into controllable giggles. “Annabelle! Ten million is less than I spend on travel in a year! I had two women killed in cold blood for these things! I pulled in favors with a respected detective. I got myself involved with suspected criminals! I risked my own neck! You think all that is worth a measly ten million? Ha! Why, I’m almost insulted!”

  “Twenty million?” Annabelle blurted.

  “Ha!” the Bishop cried. “I’ll give you fifteen million and a piece of advice – get somebody better to do your negotiating in future.”

  “Fifty! Fifty million!” yelled Annabelle, as the door burst open with a loud crash.

  Bishop Murphy leaped out of his chair and onto the balls of his feet with the agility of a cat as DI Cutcliffe and PC Montgomery ran into the study. They each took a side of the room and cornered him behind his desk, where PC Montgomery grabbed his hands and placed him in cuffs.

  “What’s going on here?!” Bishop Murphy cried.

  “You’re be
ing arrested under charges of murder and theft, Bishop,” Cutcliffe said, grimly.

  “You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence if you fail to mention when questioned anything which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence,” added PC Montgomery, almost gleefully.

  “Surely not one hundred million?” Annabelle said, still caught up in her bidding war.

  “Cutcliffe!” the Bishop shouted. “You’re not going to let this happen, are you?”

  “Unlike you, Bishop, I’m compelled to act when I hear a confession.”

  Bishop Murphy turned his head toward Annabelle, his eyes snake-like with their ferocity.

  “You! You tricked me!”

  “Come on, Bishop, we’ve got a lot to talk about down at the station.”

  PC Montgomery dragged Bishop Murphy away as he snarled and squirmed under his grip, leaving DI Cutcliffe and Annabelle alone in his study.

  The Inspector sighed before patting Annabelle respectfully on the shoulder.

  “You did a fantastic job, Reverend. The Bishop is a hell of a slippery customer. Too slippery for his own good, some would say.”

  “Thank you, Inspector,” Annabelle said, dizzy from excitement and adrenaline. “I’m just glad it’s all done.”

  “I’ll put a call through to release Mary from custody. Do you want to come back to the station to meet her?”

  “That would be good, Inspector. I need to pick my things up as well.”

  “Of course,” the Inspector said, beginning to leave.

  “One more thing, Inspector,” Annabelle said, causing him to turn and raise his eyebrow. “You didn’t throw away the rest of Teresa’s cake, did you?

  EPILOGUE

  “’FURTHER THEFTS REVEALED in ongoing Bishop Murphy case’. Ooh! Look at this, Cecilia, there’s an entire two-page spread of all the things that man has stolen over the years.”

  Annabelle spread the paper over the kitchen table as Cecilia turned away from the steaming Beef Wellington she was carefully slicing.

  “Oh my! There’s more gold there than in the Tower of London!” she said, as she saw the wide variety of shiny trinkets and ancient artifacts. “Whatever did he want with so much jewellery? To wear it?”

  Annabelle giggled gently before continuing to read. “‘The Bishop’s closest accomplice is still unnamed and refuses to talk. It is believed, however, that he has been involved in at least four other thefts on the orders of the Bishop.’ Isn’t that astonishing?”

  Before Cecilia could answer, the heavy clomping of Father John’s boots sounded in the church hall way. He entered the kitchen, inhaled deeply, and smiled at Cecilia. “The church’s best kept secret strikes again! This smells delicious, Cecilia.”

  Mary entered close behind Father John and uttered her agreement. “It smells utterly splendid! Hello, Cecilia, Annabelle.”

  “Mary! I was just reading the day’s report on the case, have you seen this?” Annabelle said, holding up the paper as Mary and Father John took their seats.

  “Oh Annabelle, I’ve had just about all I can handle regarding the entire affair,” Mary replied.

  Father John shot her a quick look of confusion. “Have you not heard the news, Mary?”

  Mary’s nonplussed gaze told the Father she hadn’t.

  “Hand me that paper, would you, Annabelle. Now, let me see,” he said, noisily turning pages. “Ah! Here it is. ‘Albert Trujillo, who lives in São Paulo, Brazil with his family, was astonished to discover that following the death of Teresa Nortega’s niece, his sister Lauren Trujillo, he was the next in line to inherit her incredible collection of jewels, including the Cats-Eye Emeralds. In a statement given to journalists two days ago, Albert Trujillo announced that he believed that it had been his aunt’s intention that the emeralds be sold. He further stated he would be heeding the calls to follow her wishes and put the jewels up for auction at Sotheby’s in London. The funds will be donated in their entirety to the Saint Baptiste hospital of West Africa, where one of the nuns involved in Bishop Murphy’s capture and arrest currently works.’”

  Mary gasped, her hand shooting to her mouth.

  “Why, that’s wonderful!” Annabelle said delightedly.

  “You’ll be a hero when you go back to Africa,” Cecilia added, as she brought the plates of sliced meat and vegetables to the table.

  “I don’t… That’s incredible… Is it really true?” Mary stuttered.

  “Says so right here,” Father John added, handing the newspaper back into Annabelle’s eager hands. “Come on, plenty of time for talk, let’s eat now.”

  Cecilia sat and, with everyone silent, Father John blessed the food. A rapturous chorus of cutlery and happy hums began as the delicious first bites were taken.

  “Expected to go for one hundred and fifty-seven million pounds!” Annabelle shouted, suddenly. The others looked up. “I was going to sell them for ten!”

  Mary, Father John, and Cecilia exchanged confused glances, before turning their attention back to Annabelle.

  “Oh, never mind,” she said, tossing the paper aside and tucking in to the juicy meat and gravy.

  They ate heartily, satisfying not just their appetite for wonderful food, but also for pleasant company and comfortable chatter. The warmth and fragrance of the meat course was followed by the sweet, fruity aroma of Cecilia’s juicy jam turnovers. Not a single person at the table wasn’t enraptured.

  Even Mary, who found herself in a state of shock at the wonderful news of finally receiving more than she could ever have hoped for regarding the funding, allowed her attention to be taken by Father John’s intelligent humor and Cecilia’s down-to-earth warmth and companionship.

  Once their hunger had disappeared and the atmosphere had settled into satisfied afterglow, Annabelle took a long sip of water and addressed Father John.

  “Father, I have something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”

  “Oh? Well, of course. What is it?”

  “Well,” Annabelle began, taking time to think about her words, “this is a truly wonderful church. And you are undoubtedly the best person I could have had to help me during my first assignment as vicar. I’ve loved every moment of our work here, and despite all the fuss and difficulties, I would not exchange these experiences for anything.”

  Father John sighed deeply. He was old enough and wise enough to know what was coming.

  “But I find myself yearning for the green fields and the seasonal changes of life in the country,” Annabelle continued. “When I thought about what it would be like to practice, I always envisaged serving a small, rural community. Though I grew up here, in East London, I feel somewhat misplaced now, as a Reverend.”

  “Annabelle,” Father John said, “I thought you would be misplaced here too, honestly. When I first saw you, I thought the work would eat you alive! Having worked with you as much as I have, I can say without a doubt, however, that I can think of nobody finer, nobody more accomplished, with whom I’d rather work. You’ve performed miracles in your parish. You’ve reached people many of your predecessors had given up on. You’ve grown the congregation at a time when every other church in London is struggling just to maintain their numbers. Why, I believe I’ve learned from you more than I’ve helped you.”

  “Thank you Father, I appreciate the kind words,” Annabelle smiled. “I’m sorry to be saying this, as I will dearly miss you and Cecilia and indeed the community. But –”

  “Say no more,” Father John interjected, raising his hand. “I understand, Annabelle. Let me talk with the Archbishop, and I’ll see what I can do. I can’t guarantee anything, and almost certainly not soon, but I’ll do my best.”

  Annabelle felt touched by Father John’s kindness and smiled with gratitude.

  “Annabelle, are you really thinking about leaving?” Cecilia said, the sorrow of the idea clear in her eyes.

  Annabelle shrugged apologetically.

  Father John raised his glass of
red wine, prompting the others to do the same.

  “Let’s not think of this as cause to be sad, but rather, cause to be glad that we had Annabelle for as long as we did,” he said. “Let’s take this chance to be grateful for this breath of fresh air in the smog of London and wish Annabelle a pleasant journey through her inevitable adventures, wherever she goes!”

  The others needed no cue to affirm the sentiment. “Cheers!” they shouted in unison, over the clinking of their glasses.

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  REVERENTIAL RECIPES

  CHERISHABLE CHERRY BLOSSOM CUPCAKES

  For the cupcakes:

  1/2 cup (1 stick) butter

  4 egg whites

  2 cups flour

  1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder

  1/2 teaspoon salt

  3/4 cup whole milk

  1/3 cup maraschino cherry juice

  1 3/4 cups sugar

  1 teaspoon vanilla extract

  1/2 teaspoon almond extract

  Maraschino cherries with stems (decoration)

  For the frosting:

  1 cup (2 sticks) butter, softened

  4 cups powdered sugar

  3 tablespoons maraschino cherry juice

  1/2 teaspoon almond extract

  Preheat the oven to 350°F/180°C. Line cupcake tins with paper liners. Allow butter and egg whites to stand at room temperature for 30 minutes.

  In a medium bowl, sift together flour, baking powder, and salt. In a separate bowl, whisk together the milk and cherry juice until combined. In a large mixing bowl, beat butter with an electric mixer on medium to high speed for 30 seconds.

  Add sugar, and vanilla and almond extracts to the butter. Beat until combined. Add egg whites, one at a time, beating well after each addition. Alternately add flour mixture and milk mixture, beating on low speed until just combined. Spoon mixture into each paper liner, filling them about 2/3 full.