“No, that young man who carried your bag from the station was rather handsome, wasn't he? I suppose you were talking to him.”
Meredith took her aunt's teasing on the chin. “And I thought you were in your chair the whole time,” she laughed.
“I was, dear, but it's very easy to look out of the window from here.” To illustrate she turned slightly and proved that she had a pretty good view through the front window. “Tell me who was in the carriage with you.”
“There was Drew.”
“Your young man.”
“He isn't my young man. He's a vicar for a start.”
“Vicars need love to. And they make very nice husbands.”
“Aunty Peg, I only met him today. His name is Andrew Cunningham, and he's a … what was the word he used? Troubleshooter. That's it. A troubleshooter for the Church of England.”
“That'll be about the money in the collection box then. Old Mrs Wheston said she put a five shilling note in, but when the money was counted the note was nowhere to be seen. Then there have been other discrepancies, like the church roof fund, which was five hundred pounds short.”
“Reverend Mortimer was also in the carriage, with his new wife, Clarice. He doesn't strike me as the deceitful type, Aunty Peg.”
“No, but you should be careful of discounting people because you like them, dear. I made that mistake in my early days of sleuthing. That includes the handsome Reverend Drew.” Aunty Peg's eyes twinkled.
“There was a woman called Edith too,” said Meredith, ignoring her. “I got the impression she was Reverend Mortimer's housekeeper.”
“That'll be Edith Sanderson. She's related to us, very distantly. Her great grandfather was labeled a lunatic. Very sad and all that, but it is sometimes hereditary, and Edith Sanderson is a strange one. Counts herself as a distressed gentlewoman. It's true some of her ancestors had money. They were architects and built many of the newer houses in Midchester. What on earth was she doing on the train?”
“She said she had shopping to do in Stockport so decided to meet them on their way home.”
“I bet she did. She's smitten with Peter Mortimer. Always has been, even during his first marriage. His wife died of pneumonia five years ago.”
“I got that impression. About Edith being smitten. She doesn't like Reverend Mortimer’s new wife, does she?”
Peg grinned. “Oh no. But everyone else does, which is what makes it so much more difficult for her. Edith, unfortunately, is not much liked at all. She's very disapproving of people. Gets all het up about the young wives who put milk bottles on the table instead of a proper milk jug. That sort of thing. People don't like to be judged nowadays.”
“Then there was Alfred Turner. The dead man. He sat opposite me,” said Meredith, continuing with her list. “And the three youngsters. Jimmy, Betty and Bert. Funny I'm calling them youngsters. I don't think they're that much younger than me. But they act younger. Like overgrown teenagers. They've only come up from London for the strawberry picking. If Turner was a policeman in Hereford and surrounding areas, he can't have meant any of them.”
“But they may come up often, Meredith. We do tend to get the same crowd year after year.”
“I hadn't thought of that.” Meredith sighed. “The other problem is that he didn't just speak to people in our carriage. He also had that chat with someone in the corridor, and Reverend Mortimer said he saw him talking to someone else in the buffet car.”
“No, I think you're making it too complicated, Meredith,” said Peg. “He stopped talking about his cases to you after he mentioned deceitful vicars and had that funny turn. Which suggests he saw something in that carriage. So let's confine it to there for now. I suppose we could look at past cases in the area. The problem is that the headquarters in Hereford would have covered such a wide circle.”
“And he was a policeman for a long time,” said Meredith. “So we've no idea how long ago any of these cases happened. We could be going back fifty years.”
“Maybe more, and perhaps even further afield. You see Turner was the type to appropriate other peoples' stories as his own. I remember him talking once about having been part of a big murder trial, but when he mentioned the name, I knew it had taken place miles from Hereford. Well out of his jurisdiction.”
“But if someone tried to kill him because he recognised them, that discounts any murders that took place out of his jurisdiction,” said Meredith.
“Yes, that's a good point. But that still doesn't mean that everything he mentioned in your carriage took place around Hereford, or really happened to him. The problem will be working out what were his cases.”
“I would think the police headquarters at Hereford could tell us,” Meredith suggested.
“Hmm, yes, but that might take too long. No, we have to do this at a local level to start with. Speak to everyone involved. People often give things away about themselves without realising. Then if that doesn't work, we'll spread the net wider. Do you know what I fancy, Meredith?”
“What?”
“A bowl of fresh, juicy strawberries.”
***
The following morning, Meredith, dressed in black pedal pushers, with a pink gingham blouse tied at the waist and black plimsolls, arrived at the Bedlington Farm strawberry field. In the distance she could see Bedlington Hall, which had once belonged to Colonel Trefusis, but since his death had become a boarding school for girls.
In the bright sunlight, the fields were a symphony of green and red, with sweet juicy berries ripe for picking. As well as employing travelling labourers to pick the crops for selling at the big markets, the owners also allowed locals to come in and pick their own fruit. It was under this pretext that Meredith entered the gates. She ambled through the rows of strawberries, with the air of someone who was looking for the best fruit. Really she was looking for Jimmy, Bert and Betty, though she suspected that if Jimmy knew about Turner's attack, he would not be there. Her suspicion was correct. About two hundred yards into the field, she found Betty and Bert, working alongside each other.
“Hello,” said Meredith, cheerfully. “I didn't expect to find you here.”
“That's what he said,” said Betty, gesturing to a man a little further down the row. The man wore black jeans, and a tight white t-shirt. He stood up and waved, flashing his heart-stopping smile at her.
“Hello, Meredith,” said Drew. “I fancied a few strawberries myself.” Meredith's breath caught in her throat. The t-shirt clung to his toned body in a way that she was sure the church would frown upon. He must be an imposter. He’d killed the real Drew Cunningham and taken his place. It was the only explanation for a man that sexy to be telling everyone he was a vicar. She would have to reveal the truth and have him arrested. It was the only way to save everyone from his devilish antics. It was the only way to save herself from the dangerously pleasurable tingling sensation in the pit of her stomach.
“We don't know where Jimmy is,” Bert said to Meredith, pulling her out of her reverie. “He's already asked us all those questions.” He jerked his thumb towards Drew.
“And we know he didn't attack the old man,” said Betty. “So stop bothering him.”
“How can we be bothering him if we don't know where he is?” asked Meredith.
“I don't know where he is, but you should still not be bothering him.” Betty returned to her work, strawberry picking.
“Betty,” said Meredith. She knelt down, and started putting strawberries into her basket. “Has Jimmy got any convictions? For using the knife, I mean.”
“No he hasn't. I've already told Drew that. And he should know anyway.” Betty glared at the vicar.
“Jimmy used to come to a youth club I ran in the East End of London,” said Drew. “He's stolen a couple of cars, gone joyriding, and he fancies himself as a bit of a tough guy, but he's not a bad kid really. He just needs a bit of direction in his life.”
“Has he been coming to the strawberry picking for long?” asked Mered
ith. She was speaking to Bert and Betty. “I mean, does he know Midchester well?”
“We were all born around here,” said Bert. “Not in Midchester. I was born in Clun, Betty in Shrewsbury and Jimmy in Crewe. But yeah, we all know Midchester.”
“So you've family in the area.”
“I never said that.” Bert looked sheepish. “We met at the children's home in Shrewsbury, didn't we, Betty? Then when we were old enough, we decided to go and live in London. We just come back for Strawberry picking. There's not much work in London.”
Remembering what Turner said about a child whose one parent was hanged for murdering the other, Meredith asked, “What happened to Jimmy's parents?”
“I dunno.” Bert shrugged. “His dad ran out before he was born, and his mother couldn't cope, so she left him there.”
“What about your parents?”
“What about them?” Bert became belligerent. “What have they got to do with anything?”
“I just wondered. What about you, Betty? What happened with your parents?”
“Meredith...” Drew spoke gently. “Could I have a quick word?”
He led her to a place several rows away from Betty and Bert. Meredith didn't like the way he folded his arms. He reminded her of the time she had done something to upset her schoolteacher.
“Meredith, I've worked with these kids for a long time. You can't just fire questions at them like that. It makes them feel guilty of something even when they're not.”
“I'm just trying to find out what happened to Alfred Turner. I'm not suggesting they're guilty.”
“They won't see it that way. All their lives they've been pushed around by authority figures, made to feel worthless because they came from a bad background. You're adding to their feelings of being victimised.”
Meredith felt her cheeks start to glow. “I didn't mean to do that. I just wanted to ask questions.”
“If you're going to play sleuth here, you've got a lot to learn.”
“And you're an expert?”
“Maybe not at detecting, but in my line of work you learn how to get information out of people without them realising you're doing it. Whereas you... I'm sorry, but you're too full on. Too abrasive.”
“I am not abrasive!”
“Yes, you are. Shooting out questions like that. You should have taken the time to get to know them, and then you might find they'd tell you what you want to know.”
“Have they told you?”
“Not yet. I was waiting for the right time to open up the discussion. But I'm afraid you've probably put paid to that. They'll be on their guard now.”
“Well, Monsieur Poirot, I'm very sorry if I've queered your pitch!” Meredith stormed off down the strawberry field, and was about to leave when she remembered that her aunt really did want fresh strawberries.
She worked quietly near to the entrance. Though the best strawberries were probably further into the field, she did not want to have to face Drew again. How dare he chastise her for her methods of detecting? Obviously he thought he was in with the young crowd, because he listened to the same music as them, and let them call him Drew, but that didn't mean he had the right to tell her what to do and how to behave. She fumed silently, pulling strawberries violently from amongst the leaves.
It was only after she'd worked for about ten minutes, filling up her basket, that she admitted to herself that he was probably right. She had gone into things with all guns blazing, fired up by the thrill of the chase. She probably had a lot to learn about being a detective. Not that she was going to let Drew Cunningham put her down. She would find out who attacked Alfred Turner and prove to Drew that she was a better sleuth than him.
“I hope your aunt wanted those strawberries mashed,” Drew said. He crouched down in the lane opposite hers, looking at her over the strawberry plants. “Whatever have they done to upset you? Or are you pretending each one is my head?” His lips curled at the corners.
Meredith looked at the strawberries in her basket. They did look somewhat bashed and beaten. Ignoring Drew, she took a deep breath and moved along the row, picking strawberries more calmly.
“Please speak to me, Meredith,” said Drew, moving along his row so that he was opposite her again. “I didn't mean to upset you. I just wanted you to consider the way you dealt with the kids. They're terrified, for Jimmy and for themselves. They don't know if he killed Turner or not. They want to believe he didn't, because he's their friend. But even if he did stab the old man, they feel loyal to him. It's amazing what people will forgive for the sake of being loyal.”
“You seem to understand them very well,” said Meredith.
“That's because I could have been just like them.”
“In what way?” She sighed. “Sorry, if that sounded abrasive,” she added churlishly.
“Remember what I told you the other day? About us all having an Aunty Sheila? Only mine was called Gloria? You and I were lucky, Meredith. We had people to step into the role of parents when our real parents couldn't, for whatever reason. All they've had is a series of institutions with people who are kind enough, but will never feel the same love for them as a blood relation could.”
“You're an orphan too?”
“That's right.”
“What...” Meredith almost asked him what happened to his parents, but was mindful of the way he had criticised her for questioning Bert and Betty.
“See,” he said, winking. “You're learning already.” Despite his joke, he did not enlighten her as to what happened to his parents. “Look, there's no reason we can't investigate this together.” He said it as if holding out an olive branch.
“How do I know you're not Turner's attacker?”
“Why would I be questioning others if that were the case?”
“To find out if anyone saw you.”
“Ah, yes, I hadn't thought of that. You could be the assailant for all I know.”
“I'm not! I stayed in the carriage the whole time. Everyone else moved around.”
“Exactly, and from the time Turner left the carriage, I was in your sight. I took his seat, remember?”
Meredith had to admit that much was true. But her pride prevented her from agreeing with him. “I'm quite capable of finding out by myself, thank you,” she said, primly.
“Drew!” Bert shouted across the strawberry field. “Come here, I want to tell you something.”
“Looks like I'll have to work alone,” said Drew.
He stood up and walked across to Bert. Meredith was sorely tempted to follow, but had the feeling Bert might clam up again if she was in the vicinity.
Sighing, Meredith picked up her basket and went to have it weighed. After she'd paid for the strawberries, she ambled back to the Constable's house. She was reluctant to admit to Peg that she had failed in her first task.
Then she thought about what she had learned. Not only were Bert, Jimmy and Betty born in the Shropshire area, they were all orphans, with some question over what happened to their parents. The same could be said for Drew, apart from where he was born. He hadn't offered that information. What did Aunt Peg always say? Sometimes the things people didn’t tell you were as important as the things they did say.
So not exactly a bad morning's work, though she would have liked to learn more. Like what the three youngsters were up to on the train when they weren't sitting in the carriage.
“Hey, Meredith! Hold on a moment.” Drew called.
She waited until he caught up with her. “What is it?”
“In the interests of disclosure and all that, I thought I'd share some information with you. Keep this on a fair footing. Of course I expect you to share everything you learn with me.”
“It depends how useful your information is,” said Meredith, haughtily.
“Bert says he saw Turner talking to Edith Sanderson in the train corridor. And they were standing right outside the toilet compartment. They were discussing his cases, according to Bert.”
“R
eally? I didn't think she approved of him.”
“Obviously she only pretended. Women like that often do feign disapproval, when it's to do with sex or violence. Secretly they love to know about it. It makes them feel superior.”
“Yes, I suppose that's true.” She remembered the gleam in Edith’s eyes when she’d asked about the Mortimer’s honeymoon cruise.
True Love Ways Page 3
