“These truffles are very good,” Lillie gushed.
The contessa returned to her seat. She smiled. “I’m happy you like them. It is a special order from a French restaurant in Timsley.”
“I see.” Lillie showed somewhat less enthusiasm.
“Chocolate du la Fleur,” Berdie remembered from Charles Swindon-Pierce carrying on. “No wonder Robin ate every bit.”
“I’ll send some home with you.” The host spoke to Ortensia in Italian and the aide left the room. The contessa appeared delighted that her guests were enjoying themselves.
“Very generous, thank you.” Berdie wiped a smudge of chocolate from her lip. She laid the napkin in her lap. “Contessa, I’m pleased that Aidan Kirkwood is a pleasant memory for you. How did you come to be a patron for our church garden, if I may ask?”
The door chime sounded. Oh, bother, who could that be? Berdie wondered. She caught a flash of yellow sundress through the sitting room door. Loyal Ortensia was about her duties.
“Ah, the church garden. Yes, a question I expected from the vicar’s wife. It is very simple,” the host began.
Berdie could hear the familiar voice of Pat the Postman, curt and efficient, making an attempt to discuss something with Ortensia in the hall. A bang of the door announced Patricia’s departure.
Ortensia entered the sitting room holding a small parcel.
Carlotta Santolio gave a hard stare to her aide. “Yes, Ortensia.”
“Thees come for you,” she stumbled in English. “Importante, molto importante.”
Berdie could just see the large red words open immediately stamped on the box.
“Excuse me.” The host redirected her gaze. “Yes, open it, Ortensia. Aperto.”
Adeptly, Ortensia worked her fingers to open the parcel. She unsecured the top and removed a piece of white tissue.
All three women now watched every nuance of the aide for a clue concerning what she was discovering.
Ortensia furrowed her brow. She brought the box closer to her face. Her eyes became slits then widened with intensity. Attended by a horrified gasp, Ortensia threw the box to the floor. A string of Italian words even Berdie could recognize as expletives gushed from the woman’s lips.
Startled, Lillie dropped her half-eaten truffle on her lap.
“Ortensia?” The Contessa abruptly stood.
That’s when Berdie saw it, there in the box, an eerie dark object against the white tissue.
In a flash, spindly appendages began to awaken and move. Berdie blinked, working to comprehend what she was watching.
The creature erected itself on its coarse legs and instituted a spine-chilling sway, as if presenting itself in utter domination. The dance of death. The great, terrifying spider, in one electric movement, leaped from the box and fastened itself onto Ortensia’s leg.
The woman shrieked. She shook her leg with such intensity Berdie thought it would dislocate. But the creature couldn’t be dislodged.
The contessa recoiled in horror. “Holy Author of Peace,” she entreated.
Lillie repositioned herself to stand on the couch, alternating fretful yelps with gasps of repulsion.
Instinctively, Berdie stood and gathered herself. She vowed the creature would not prevail. Umbrella! She determinedly dashed into the hallway and pulled her umbrella from the stand with such force, the ceramic rack fell to the floor shattering into a hundred pieces.
Berdie approached the aide with haste. “Watch out Ortensia,” Berdie screamed above the bedlam. “Dear Lord,” she invoked the Almighty. Putting all her weight into it, Berdie used the pointed end of the umbrella, and in one precise stab, sent the ghastly spider tumbling onto the floor where it lay stunned. The blood-red mark on Ortensia’s leg was decidedly visible.
Ortensia screamed, tears plummeted down her face, and profuse perspiration was already raising the flag that something horrific sent it’s shockwaves through the servant’s body. She escaped into the hallway.
“Lillie, get your mobile, go to the kitchen, and call nine, nine, nine,” Berdie commanded while she warily inched her way towards the still spider. “Get a jar, a bowl and bring it promptly.”
Lillie leapt off the couch and moved like a frightened gazelle.
“Contessa, carefully, get Ortensia to lay down on the couch, now!”
Berdie was close enough to the arachnid now to see it beginning to rouse. “Stand clear,” she yelled. She knew the blow must be ferocious. Berdie gripped the umbrella, engaged every muscle, every ounce of stamina within her and sprang the implement forcefully upon the creature. Once, twice, and on the third strike, the umbrella busted apart. Berdie judiciously lifted the debunked umbrella to find the corpse of the offender. She released a long, heavy sigh then turned her attention to Carlotta Santolio and her aide.
The contessa had just settled the wailing Ortensia on the couch.
“Contessa,” Berdie prompted, “please do your best to calm her. The spider’s dead.”
The royal put her hand on the shoulder of her loyal helper and spoke Italian words in a soothing tone. And though Ortensia’s panic began to appease, her tears were sincere. In between sobs, Ortensia verbalized something to the contessa.
“She’s complaining of pain,” the contessa reported. “Her foot is trembling.”
Berdie observed the red spot that now sat atop a growing red mound. “Poison, deadly poison.” Berdie quietly swallowed the words.
Lillie reentered the room holding a large empty bowl. Berdie grabbed it and placed it over the dead perpetrator. “You made the call?”
“Yes, and I called Dr. Honeywell, too.”
“Good going.” Berdie moved closer to her friend and whispered. “Lillie, I want you to think Girl Guides. Remember the emergency aid training? How do we treat a poisonous bite?”
“Poison!” Lillie gulped. “Yes, poisonous bite. Clean the wound with soap and water. Um.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “Place a cool cloth on the bite.” Her eyes popped open again. “Elevate and apply a tourniquet above the lesion.”
“A tourniquet, what can we use as a tourniquet?” Berdie eyed Lillie’s new scarf.
“Of course.” Lillie responded in an instant. She untied the beautiful fabric that hung about her neck. “This should do for now.”
Berdie spun on her heel. “Contessa, please fetch a clean towel and soap from the bath.” She spun back around. “Lillie…” Before the words left Berdie’s mouth, she realized Lillie was already at Ortensia’s side, tying the scarf on the woman’s leg.
The contessa moved next to Berdie. Her eyes welled with liquid. “Please,” she pleaded. Her voice was weak. “Ortensia is not just my aide. She is my only true friend.”
Berdie took the woman’s hand. “We’re doing everything we can. Pray, Contessa, pray with all your heart.”
The noble shook her head. “Yes.” She sniffed, a tear slipping down her cheek.
“Now, get that towel and soap.”
The woman tipped her head in response to Berdie’s command and set to on her assignment.
The roar of an approaching vehicle announced the arrival of Dr. Honeywell.
Berdie suddenly found herself in need of fresh air. She moved to the front door, trying to avoid the shards across the floor, and mustered just enough strength to open it. The coolness of the life-giving rain invited her to release the great weight of the moment. “Great God of mercy,” she breathed, “please spare Ortensia.”
8
“Here, my dear lady.” Hugh handed Berdie a rosy polka-dot teacup full of steaming Tips with a splash of milk and one sugar, just the way she liked it.
The master bedroom of Oak Leaf Cottage felt a haven as Berdie nestled into her Queen Anne chair.
“Oh, thanks, love.” She sighed and took a sip of the hot liquid. She felt the warmth of it renew her sense of well-being.
Constable Albert Goodnight’s lengthy attempt to inspect the lodge following the spider incident was done with great inaccuracy. His questioni
ng of Berdie and Lillie was far too brief and didn’t include anything truly key to the investigative process. It frustrated Berdie profoundly.
Still, here she sat, safe as houses and sipping tea with her husband. And for that, she was truly grateful. She let the aroma of it tickle her nose as she took another relished sip of hot brew.
“I’m not quite sure if I should applaud your courage or chide your foolhardy bravado.” Hugh’s voice was gentle yet firm. “But, by all accounts, your response may have saved lives.” He paused then smiled. “Well done my amazing wife.” He placed a sweet peck on her forehead.
Berdie couldn’t hide her appreciation for Hugh’s support. A broad smile played across her lips.
“How is Ortensia? Have you heard?” Berdie knew the woman was rushed to hospital with Carlotta Santolio at her side.
“Still critical I’m afraid. The doctor said she’d probably be dead if not for your quick action.”
“By God’s grace and Lillie’s rapid treatment. I just did in the perp.” Berdie grinned.
Hugh sat on the couch near the chair and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and clasped his hands together. His left eyebrow elevated, which alerted Berdie to the fact that conversation to come could be a bit touchy.
“Tell me honestly, Berdie, what do you think about the whole contessa-spider affair?”
Berdie looked her husband straight in the eye. “I think someone wants the contessa gone. There’s not an ounce of doubt in my mind. That venomous creature was intended for her, not her assistant.”
Hugh shook his head. “Do you think it was meant just to scare, or to actually kill?”
Berdie shrugged. “A person lies perilously ill in hospital.”
Hugh went on. “I know the incident’s only hours old, but have you thought about whom may…?”
Berdie interrupted and was resolute. “Who might want Mrs. Santolio out of the way? As you say, early days yet.” Berdie took a deep inhale. “I know her husband died not long ago, I should think she’s come into money.”
“Ah, family who stand to inherit? Greed at its worst,” Hugh reasoned.
“Possibly.” Berdie took another deliberate sip of tea.
Hugh tipped his head. “You don’t sound convinced.”
Berdie knew what she was about to say had most probably already danced through her husband’s mind and it needed to be out there.
“The postmark on the package was London, not Italy where family should reside. Six guests were invited to tea, only Lillie and I accepted. Now, what does that tell you?”
“I was one of the six. People are busy.”
“Oh come, Hugh. Apart from you, there’s been a wind of ill-will towards her since the woman arrived. People have expressed dismay, even outrage. She did, after all, uncover the bones. Who’s to say? Could the person who buried them there have been at the sod turning?
Hugh leaned back in the chair and folded his arms. “OK, Miss Marple, who in Aidan Kirkwood wants to do in the contessa?”
“Now, Hugh.” Berdie put her cup down. “I’m an investigator not a prophetic seer. You know I can’t answer that question right now, but there are possibilities about. They would be, at this point, speculation.”
“I don’t want speculation, I want truth.”
“As do I,” Berdie added and blew ever so slightly across the teacup, eyes resolutely on Hugh.
He sounded as if his military intelligence background was raising its head. Still, it was certainly party to his responsibilities as vicar of this parish to get to the bottom of things.
Berdie struck while the iron was hot. “Now, if I were given your permission to pursue a proper investigation, be it in an attitude of stealth, I should hope I could jolly well give you the answer.” Berdie felt a slight flutter of anticipation.
“I knew that’s what you would say.” Hugh was pensive. He stood, went to the fireplace, grabbed the poker, and placed it in the empty hearth. “There’s a stipulation,” he announced.
Berdie finished his sentence. “I shan’t let it interfere with my church duties, and I shall be extremely careful. We’ve been here before, Hugh.”
“Yes, but there’s more. I don’t want you to carry out your own work so much as to aid Goodnight’s investigation.”
Berdie’s flutter turned into a furious spin. “What?” Her voice was intense and full of fire.
“Tomorrow, you go to Goodnight and offer your services. If he says no, it’s off.”
“Hugh, the only aid Goodnight wants from me is to clean his rugs.”
“If he says no, it’s off,” Hugh reiterated and banged the poker in the hearth.
Berdie’s spin now became desperately close to despair. Hugh’s demand could put an end to even subtle investigating on her part. What were the chances Goodnight would allow her to do more than fetch his brew?
****
All through the next morning’s walk to Goodnight’s home, Berdie hardly noticed the people about. Nor did she relish the aroma of freshly brewed coffee along with an almost-taste of morning sausages emanating from the Upland Arms. She didn’t even gaze at the overcast sky that allowed only occasional peeks of sunlight. Her energies were spent on considering all the ploys she could marshal to get Goodnight to accept her, and her gift to sniff out the truth, into his proceedings. Nothing seemed plausible.
When she arrived at the constable’s row home, she stood before it with little hope. “Well, Lord, I’m here,” was the only offering she made, and that in a disheartened voice.
Harriet Goodnight answered the door holding an overflowing laundry basket. She smelled of fresh bacon and offered little greeting.
“He’s got someone with him, but I reckon you can join the party,” she squalled.
Once inside the home, Mrs. Goodnight’s rapid knock on the door of the front bedroom that served as the constable’s office was followed by the bang of the door flung open against the inside wall. It was topped off with Harriet’s shrill, “There’s another one come.”
“Harriet,” the constable shouted from behind his desk, “if I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a hundred times.”
Berdie was thus launched into Albert Goodnight’s morning.
The policeman swamped the desk so that it looked he might not be able to arise except with great difficulty. The chintz curtains on the window behind him reminded that this was hardly a proper police station, and a half eaten toast with strawberry jam sat within his arms’ reach. Still, his too-small uniform gave him a certain sense of crude authority.
The man seated in a dilapidated chair opposite Goodnight’s desk turned to espy the newcomer.
“Well, blow me over. Berdie Elliott, is that you?”
“Chief Inspector Kent.” Berdie beamed. “What an unexpected pleasure.”
Goodnight furrowed his thick brows. “You know the vicar’s wife?” he grumbled.
Chief Inspector Jasper Kent paid the constable no mind. He stood and offered his chair to Berdie. Clad in his worn brown overcoat, she wondered if he even bothered to remove it when bathing. In all the years they had been part of the same professional circle, she’d never seen him without it.
“Last I saw you was that traveler’s case in Mistcome Green.”
“And the perp was brought to justice,” Berdie added and sat in the chair.
Albert Goodnight observed the conversation. An ugly sneer stole across his face. He stabbed his finger in the inspector’s direction. “You religious then?”
“I understand you had a spot of bother, a rammed car I believe.” The Chief Inspector tipped his head and continued his conversation with Berdie, still ignoring the constable.
“Now when has something like an attempted bump off ever made me less keen to follow the scent?”
Kent grinned. “That’s my Berdie. Nothing stands in the way of bringing the bad guys to justice.”
Goodnight ran a finger through his bushy mustache, and then cleared his throat, loudly. “We done with the love fest?”
Berdie and the Scotland Yard inspector turned their eyes to the constable.
“Good fortune this.” Jasper Kent put his hand on the back of Berdie’s chair. “You’ve got a deft hand in your court, Albert. No gutter press here. Real integrity, investigative prowess. Indeed, you’ve got a real asset.” He nodded in Berdie’s direction.
“I’ve got what?” The constable spit the words out like so much over-ripe cheese. “Inspector Kent and me were about our business,” he protested in Berdie’s direction.
“Oh, yes, indeed,” the inspector agreed. “Yes, Berdie, the constable and I were just discussing the cold case, the church bones.” Inspector Kent leaned his head close to Berdie. “We don’t cater to cold cases, but this one”—he discreetly nodded in Goodnight’s direction—“raised such a fuss.”
“What you going on about?” Goodnight strained forward, tapping his finger on the desktop.
The inspector stood tall. “I’m telling Mrs. Elliott that we’ve sent a forensic anthropologist to assist you in the bones case.”
Goodnight crossed his arms. “Any of her business?”
Berdie smiled at Goodnight. “Oh yes, Dr. Roz Chase. Yes I’ve met her. Quite capable. She’ll be invaluable no doubt.”
Goodnight ran his tongue across his top teeth making a kind of sizzle sound in the process, face going pink. “Indeed.”
Berdie turned to Kent and went on. “The church bones, Inspector, is that why you’re here?”
“In part. I’m actually looking into the contessa Santolio affair. Very odd. We had a similar situation in London a few years back. Wandering Brazilian spider, deadly as they come, arrives by post, bang goes the unfortunate gift-opener. Never solved. Albert tells me you were there with the contessa when she got her big surprise.”
Goodnight verbally pounced like a fox on a hare. “If there’s trouble about, this one”—he jabbed his finger towards Berdie—“comes part and parcel with it.”
“Doesn’t she though?” Jasper Kent nodded. “Yes, that’s why I insist she be a part of the investigation.”
Up from the Grave Page 11
