“The little beast has taken to running off lately, and we can’t find her. Cara’s beside herself with worry.”
“Sorry, no, Jamie, no sight of her.” Berdie felt drops splashing through the open window.
“If we see her, we’ll try to gather her and give you a call,” Hugh offered from the driver’s side.
“Cheers.” Jamie nodded and began a trot down the doused street.
As Berdie closed the window, a prolonged horn blast emanated from the elegant vehicle behind.
“All right,” Hugh spoke as if the driver would hear him. “We’re on our way.”
“Impatient lot.” Lillie mopped her eyes.
Hugh pulled from the curb, and Lillie pattered on. “I mean really. Loren has a cheek. Could I meet him at the Timsley train station where he’s greeting his arriving colleague? And he knows I have a voice lesson later this afternoon, and choir practice. ‘I should think about it’, I told him. Oh, but he goes on and tells me the real burner.”
Berdie pushed her lenses back to their proper place and observed her dear friend glaring out the vehicle’s window as if the village buildings were taking in every detail.
“And I’m sure you’re going to tell us what that burner is,” Berdie dropped into Lillie’s tirade.
It was then Lillie appeared to become truly cognizant of the fact that two other people were present in the car. She leaned towards Berdie. “Yes, I’m meeting Roz, he says. As she’s a forensic anthropologist, she’s consulting on the bones case.” Lillie blew out a spurt of air. “Of all the cheek.”
“Roz.” Hugh nodded his head. “Isn’t she the university chum of Loren’s we met in Northumbria?”
Lillie gave a terse bob of the chin.
“We never really met her, just saw her, really,” Berdie reminded.
“Oh,” Hugh cheered. “She was a great help on discovering the Livingston family, the key to unlocking the whole business with Miss Livingston, or rather Mrs. Avent. I’m sure she’ll be of tremendous value to this case as well as to Loren.”
“Oh, I see. Now she’s wonder woman come to save the day.” Lillie scornfully folded her arms.
“To be fair, that’s not what I said.” Hugh glanced in the rearview mirror at the sulking woman.
Berdie inclined herself towards Hugh and whispered, “I should stop while ahead if I were you.”
She turned herself as much as she could in her seatbelt to look back at Lillie. “Lillie, Loren’s dealings with his colleague are simply professional.”
“He calls her Roz.”
“All right, Loren’s dealings with Roz, albeit a friend, are simply professional.”
“Oh, yes?”
“Look, Lillie. See sense. If he was carrying on with her, he’d hardly invite you to meet her at the station with him, would he?”
Lillie bit her lip and looked again out the window.
“If you permit me to interrupt for a moment,” Hugh injected, apparently willing to take a chance.
Berdie took a deep breath.
“Speaking as a man, Lillie, let me remind you, that you are the person with whom Dr. Meredith has chosen to pursue romance. If he had wanted to have that kind of a relationship with Roz, he’d have had hundreds of opportunities to do so. The point is, she’s an old university chum who happens to be in the same field as he. She’s lending aid, and that’s all there is to it.”
“Well.” Gone was the hard edge in Lillie’s voice.
Berdie could see those devilish shades of green that can so easily rise at the thought of another woman being reasoned away.
“I suppose you’re right.”
Hugh, both hands gripping the wheel, glanced in the rearview mirror at his softening passenger and back to the road. “To be quite frank, Lillie, I have great respect for Roz’s professional capacities, but she’s hardly a film star is she?”
Berdie pursued the thought. “Her hair was right out the bottle, brittle blonde. I’m sure her professional demands give limited time for personal care. Her wardrobe suits her job, but you could hardly call it flattering.”
Lillie sniffled. “She didn’t appear very warm.”
“No,” Berdie reaffirmed with an all-girls-together tone.
Hugh raised a palm from the steering wheel. “All right, before this turns into a feline frenzy…”
“I don’t see anyone growing claws,” Berdie boldly interjected.
Hugh continued, “Before this turns into a feline frenzy, let’s just say Loren Meredith has set his cap at you, Lillie, and that’s all that really matters in the situation.”
“Set his cap.” Lillie smiled. “I’ve not heard that in a long while.”
“Well, it’s true,” Hugh affirmed. “Now, moving on, you look quite cold, and I have an old jumper in the box right next to you that I’m taking to St. Mark’s jumble sale. Put it on for a bit, and it may chase the chill.”
Lillie worked to remove her wet coat. She pulled a large grey jumper from the box and held it high, long sleeves dangling.
“That’s a bit tatty.” Berdie eyed the worn thing. “It’s stretched out, even for Hugh. You’ll swim.”
Lillie ran her fingers over the worn threads. “Ah, but it’s wool.”
“Right.” Hugh nodded. “Toasty.”
Lillie pulled the garment over her wet curls and draped it on her body. She rubbed her hands, once she got them out the extra-long sleeves, up and down her arms. She smiled that delightful smile only Lillie possessed that enchanted all in her presence. And about time, too, Berdie thought. Lillie let go a giggle.
“What?” Berdie questioned.
“That must have been a right hoot for the ladies in the Copper Kettle when we bumped, and I lost my umbrella.”
“I’m sure we seemed a pair of ninnies.” Berdie chortled, and Lillie joined her in a hearty laugh. It was good to have Lillie back to her old self.
“Another fifteen minutes and we’ll be in Timsley,” Hugh announced with a lilt in his voice that almost sounded like a spring serenade.
6
The interior of the Timsley train station bustled with the crowds of travelers, commuters, and day-trippers. People in a sea of dripping humanity bumped and twisted their way along, most managing as little interaction as possible while on a quest for their destinations.
Berdie and Hugh held hands and rode the crest of the wave while Lillie, behind them, just managed to keep pace.
“Number four,” Lillie shouted from behind.
Berdie observed the approaching crowd. She espied tall, handsome Dr. Meredith walking among them, but she was sure the woman with whom he walked wasn’t Roz. He pulled a wheeled trolley bag behind him, and the strange woman had her arm wrapped around Dr. Meredith’s elbow like ivy around a lamppost. The woman’s facial profile wasn’t familiar. Berdie strained forward and pushed her glasses tightly against the bridge of her nose.
“There’s Meredith, but that’s not Roz.” Hugh spoke what Berdie was thinking.
Lillie now deposited herself next to Berdie and made the same observation.
The woman and Loren walked with matching strides, laughing and chatting. A bit closer now, Berdie realized indeed it was Roz, but she looked nothing like the Roz they had seen previously. Voluminous auburn hair, not brittle blonde, just touched her firm shoulders. A rather tightly-fitted top and slacks revealed hither-to unrevealed curves and legs that went on forever.
“I say.” Hugh’s eyes became saucers while Lillie’s eyes narrowed into tiny slits.
“Has she returned to her natural hair color?” Berdie asked anybody.
“If she has”—Lillie’s tone could give pluck to lemons—“it’s the only bit that is natural.”
“It looks she’s lost a smidgen in just the right places.” Berdie craned forward.
“And decidedly added some perky bits in just the right places.
“I say,” Hugh repeated.
“Hugh, you can close your mouth now,” Berdie prompted her stunned husba
nd.
She watched Loren’s eyes dance from her husband to herself, then to Lillie. Surprise registered itself on the doctor’s face.
“Lillie, you decided to come,” Dr. Meredith blurted upon his arrival. “Rather a surprise.”
Roz released the doctor’s elbow.
“Yes, well I can see that,” Lillie said curtly.
Berdie perceived that Lillie had become frightfully aware that the warmth of the old jumper she wore had wooed her into a forgetfulness of its tatty appearance.
Lillie removed a curl of wet hair that fell across her mascara-washed eyelid. The doctor simply stared at his usually impeccable Lillie. A corner of his mouth turned upward.
Roz cleared her throat.
“Oh sorry,” the doctor apologized. “Reverend Elliott, Mrs. Elliott, Lillie, this is Doctor Rosalyn Harvey.”
“That’s Doctor Rosalyn Chase, actually,” the woman corrected. “I’ve gone back to my maiden name.” She looked at Loren.
“But you didn’t say.” Dr. Meredith’s words stumbled.
“I see,” Hugh offered after a moment to fill a rather stark silence.
“No concern really.” Roz directed her nonchalant comments to Hugh. Her obviously volume-ized rosy lips pushed the words out. “Gerard and I were only married three minutes, separated longer than we were together, and now I’m free as a bird.”
Tweet, tweet, Berdie thought while her husband politely smiled and nodded his head.
Roz softly ran a painted fingernail down her curved neck that came to rest on a long golden necklace and returned Hugh’s smile. The former cigarette-stained teeth glowed whiter than a full moon on a cloudless April night.
Lillie’s right, Berdie noted. Are there any bits that haven’t been smoothed, inflated, or vacated?
Berdie leaned closely against her husband’s side.
Lillie crossed her arms looking at Loren for some kind of reassurance.
“Well, the best laid plans and all that.” Loren offered with a weak smile. “The lab called just a moment ago and bang goes our plan to lunch together.” Loren’s grasp on the wheeled trolley tightened. “They want Roz and me at the lab as soon as we leave off her gear.”
“And where will you be staying, Dr. Chase?” Lillie asked Roz with quiet restraint.
“Some mate’s named Colley.”
“Dr. Chase is staying at Colley’s flat while he’s off visiting friends,” Loren said rather hastily.
“Colley?” Lillie’s restraint was not as quiet towards the doctor. “The Colley McCurry whose flat is next to yours?” Lillie’s crossed arms tightened.
“We’ll have buckets of work, being next door is perfect.” Roz smiled.
“Oh yes?” Lillie gave Dr. Meredith a hard stare.
“Well, you know work demands,” Loren explained while Roz, once again, sneaked her hand into the crook of the doctor’s arm.
“Lillie…” Loren appealed but was interrupted by Roz.
“We really must get going, Loren.”
“Indeed.”
“Nice to meet you,” Roz offered without any real conviction.
“Yes,” Hugh said.
Berdie simply lifted her eyebrows.
“Well then.” Loren had an edge of discomfort that betrayed how everyone appeared to be feeling, except Roz, of course.
With a nod of the head, Loren and Roz departed, she still clinging to his arm, he looking back at Lillie to see if he may find a bit of exoneration there. By the look on Lillie’s face, none was to be found.
****
The downpour of yesterday departed and the train station dilemma now history, Berdie looked forward to the morning walk that would take her to the other end of the village. Berdie observed herself in the pub mirror that hung in the oak paneled hallway by the front door of the vicarage. Her glance was a final check before departing for Kirkwood Green Bed and Breakfast to meet Cherry for tea. Berdie hoped the offer of her apologies concerning the lack of action in the Wilkie Gordon falderal would be met with mercy.
She ran a finger over her lifted eyebrow and reviewed the rest of her day. Hugh was out on church business. After tea with Cherry, she would, meet with Ivy, Lillie, Cara, and Mrs. Braunhoff at the Butz home.
“Designing the children’s Easter festivities,” was the way Hugh put it when he placed the responsibility of it squarely on Berdie’s shoulders. She then, as a good vicar’s wife, adeptly passed it on to Ivy Butz. The mother of six was so very good at this sort of thing and despite her many demands as wife and mother, Ivy enjoyed every minute of creating and hosting a fête.
Then, there was dinner this evening at Le Petit Chaumier, the lovely French Restaurant in Timsley. Dr. Meredith invited her and Hugh to accompany him and Lillie to dinner, an attempt Berdie was sure, to bandage the effects of yesterday and the Roz ordeal.
Yes, now dinner at Le Petit Chaumier, that was something quite worthy of eager anticipation.
Berdie approvingly checked her light coral lipstick, a new shade that complimented her increasingly red hair and tortoiseshell glasses. She was decidedly happy with the look when the hallway telephone rang.
“Oh, bother,” Berdie fussed and stepped to the ringing apparatus. “Vicarage,” she announced with a pluck in her voice.
“Thees ees Senora Elliott?”
“It is,” Berdie replied with a note of caution, “with whom am I speaking?”
“Ah, Senora Elliott, I ama Ortensia Orono. I ama the aide to Contessa Santolio.”
“Yes, good morning.” It took considerable effort to follow the heavily accented words.
“The Contessa, she wishes you for tea tomorrow, three thirty. Yessa, you come?”
“How very kind.” Berdie didn’t hesitate for a moment. “Please tell the Contessa thank you, grazie, and yes, I will come for tea.”
“Ah, bella.”
Berdie could hear the smile in the aide’s voice.
“Tomorrow. Pronto.”
“Oh, indeed, I’ll be on time,” Berdie assured.
Click.
Berdie looked at the receiver. “Apparently the conversation is over.” She placed the receiver in the telephone cradle. “Hum, I wonder why the contessa’s inviting me to her lodgings. Nonetheless, an invitation to spend time with the mystery benefactor, I couldn’t have planned it better.”
Berdie glanced at the hall clock. “Deary me.” She took a deep breath and raced out the door for Kirkwood Green Bed and Breakfast.
It was a cheerful walk down the High Street. The fresh-washed air brought a sparkling scent to her nose. Shopkeepers cleaned and cleared their storefronts in the aftermath of the previous days’ deluge. The light kiss of sunlight felt warm on the cheek.
Villette Horn, who wiped the exterior of the large Copper Kettle window, even managed a bright smile and a “Good morning.”
Jamie Donovan stopped his work lorry dead in the middle of the road to tell Berdie that he had found Snowdrop playing with Fritz near the Gordon’s home. No surprise there.
Berdie decided it must have been the return of the sun lifting its royal head above the occasional clouds that brought a sense of well-being to the village. Not one person asked about the bones.
By the time Berdie reached the front step of Kirkwood Green Bed and Breakfast, she was ready for a hot cuppa.
When she rang the buzzer, she could see the figure of Cherry Lawler through the door’s etched glass window.
Cherry advanced towards the door, a lovely smile decorating her pixie face.
Berdie admired the energy and work ethic of both Cherry and her husband, Jeff. It was a sizeable operation, this twelve-room inn. They took it over from Jeff’s father just a year ago almost to the day they returned from their honeymoon.
Berdie became aware that someone from behind approached the step where she stood. She turned to see Patricia King. Yes, indeed, she was Aidan Kirkwood’s own version of Pat the Postman. Athletically built, and very unlike the character of the children’s books, she raced he
r route with great precision and very little conversation.
“Mrs. Elliott,” she greeted, then thrust a stack of mail in Berdie’s direction. “Going in? Give that to Cherry please.”
Before Berdie could respond, the stack was in her hand, and she watched Pat the Postman hustle off in manic fashion to the next domicile. “You’re welcome,” she called after the woman.
The large door opened. “Mrs. Elliott, please come in.” Cherry greeted her in denim jeans and a short buttoned cardigan, smart yet practical for the type of work a B and B required.
Berdie handed Cherry the clustered mail. “Special delivery,” she chortled.
“Thanks.” Cherry laughed and held the mail close to her body.
The hostess showed Berdie through the wallpapered hallway into a side room with large glass double doors. It served as a sitting room for guests. It was cozy with upholstered furnishings, an inglenook that stood pertly in a fireplace surround, and a coffee table laid for tea.
“Whatever happened to village postal service where the dear postman gave jovial greetings?” Berdie memorialized.
Cherry nodded. “Patricia can be curt. Certainly not like old Mr. Orson.” She paused. “Oh please, sit down.” Cherry waved Berdie towards a sofa then did a rapid shuffle of the multiple envelopes.
“Orson?” Berdie leaned back on the sofa.
“Mum and I lived in a tiny village near the sea.” Cherry stilled the shuffling. “Orson was the postman. ‘Good morning, Mrs. Gordon,’ he’d say to my mum, very warmly, and he’d always have a sweetie for me. But then that was years ago.” Cherry eyed the top envelope in her hand. “Now that’s odd.” She squinted.
“What’s odd?” Berdie asked with interest.
“This letter’s addressed to my grandfather, but it has our street number.” Cherry took a closer look. “It’s from the continent.”
“Really? Wilkie’s name and your number, from the continent?”
Cherry handed the letter to Berdie. Indeed, the return address looked to be German.
Berdie read aloud. “Doktor Herman Schultz, twenty-five Morgan Strasse, Heidelberg.” Curiosity getting the better of her, Berdie lifted the thin airmail envelope up to the morning sunlight that flooded through the glass doors. She tried to scrutinize its contents.
Up from the Grave Page 8
