Captain Jack leaned to rest on his mop. “Just shows how stupid that Errol Flynn look-a-like is then, Vicar. Like I would only have one set of keys.”
How stupid of me, too! “So where are the others?”
“I have a few sets hidden, and of course there are the masters in the cockpit. Pirates.” he huffed, “Never can be too careful.”
“Do you get many pirates in the charter business?”
“You’d be surprised. There’s a lot of wealth on these condomarans.”
“I suppose so. Have you noticed any of the keys are missing?”
“Nope, but then I’ll be honest, I haven’t looked. By the way, I hear you found the diary. What did you make of it?”
“Not much. I took some photos but haven’t really scrutinized them. You were right though, it’s all in gobble-de-gook.”
“My question would be, not that anyone would ask me,” Jack grunted, “what things do people want to hide?”
“Things they want to remain secret.” I flipped on my phone.
“Exactly, and most secrets are about sex or money. That lot are as open as a raided treasure chest about sex, so I say - follow the money.”
“And money would point to Steve or Celeste?”
Jack shrugged and plunged the mop into the grey bucket at his feet. My audience was over and I had an appointment to make.
Hair today, gone tomorrow
The ferry was out when I got back to the port, but I didn’t really have time to spare. I couldn’t be late for Barbara’s surprise hen party. Well, maybe only by a few minutes. Ten. Max.
Okay, fifteen. Mum scowled at me as I entered Scissor Sisters. I had missed the big ‘Surprise!’ moment. Zuzu spotted the need for an intervention and whisked me off to the back of the salon.
“Jessie! Come on, this Barbara’s big day. And she’s more your friend than ours.”
“Oh really? Now she’s my friend, yet you all have been privy to the dress and the decorations and I’m relegated to the church stuff.”
“We all have our specialisms,” Zuzu replied, covering her hand to mask her giggles at my fake offence. The cake! I never asked Rosie about the cake!
“I forgot to ask. You have sorted the wedding cake right?”
Zuzu patted my shoulder and guided me to a couple of chairs in the waiting area. “Oh, ye of little faith. Rosie has it all in hand. Relax and join in the fun. Okay? Tea, coffee, champagne?”
“Tea, thank you.” Scissor Sisters was jumping. Music poured from the wall mounted speakers. Junior stylists served trays of canapes. And the twins, Verity and Avril, fussed over their guest of honour. Barbara was loving every minute.
The shop bell tinkled to announce another visitor, and Mandy McGuire rushed in with her cherubic youngest child in a pushchair. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she shouted over the music. “I didn't realise you were having a party. I wanted to see if you could fit me in for a last-minute cut and blow dry.” Dwayne, the twins’ top stylist, whisked her into a vacant chair beside me and thrust some magazines in her hand.
“If you're prepared to wait, my love, I’ll do you after the Reverend here.” Dwayne snapped his perfectly manicured fingers to summon food and drinks.
Mandy was Bob’s younger sister, and I knew her from our weekly Wesberrey Walkers workouts. I never really had much opportunity to speak with her. She was always rushing hither and thither after her four children. All born out of wedlock, but as Our Lord said, he who is without sin, etc.
“Is this your youngest? What’s her name?”
“Melody.” Mandy pulled a baby wipe out of a plastic pouch at the side of her buggy and attempted to clean up her daughter’s chubby fingers.
“What a lovely name. Are the others at school? I think I have met your eldest, Charlie? He is very vocal during assembly.”
Mandy unwrapped a rusk biscuit and wedged it into Melody’s eager hand. “Yep, that sounds like my Charlie. Always has something to say for himself.”
“He’s a clever lad. And you have two more?” I was keen to maintain small talk. Dwayne was currently working his magic on my sister, Rosie. I was far down the line.
“Yes, four, for my sins. You’d think I’d have worked out how it happens by now.” She smiled. “Melody will be my last. But I’ve said that every time.”
I smiled back. “And you all live with your brother. That must be nice. Having him around.”
“Yeah, Bob’s a veritable saint, Reverend. Not sure how I would manage without him. Is that your sister in the chair?”
“Rosie? Yes.”
“Ah, so that’s Rosina Bailey. My brother’s carried a torch for her for over thirty years. She split from her husband recently, right?”
Vague memories of a young Bob McGuire pulling my sister’s pigtails in class and making her cry rushed into my mind. “Er, yes.”
A scream sliced through the air. Verity and Avril were huddled over the bride-to-be, who was wailing hysterically. I had never seen my parish secretary like this. Something must be very wrong. I made my excuses to Mandy and rushed to Barbara’s side.
“They promised!” she cried. “What are we going to do now?”
“Who promised? What’s up?” I asked Verity, who was battling with the extension wire of a pink hairdryer.
“The police have just called her and said she can’t have the pub’s reception room back.”
I looked at my family, but the solution was obvious. “Then we move everything to the church hall. Right?” Everyone agreed. “Zuzu, sweet talk Dave to let us in to gather up the drapes and the lights. And catering, Rosie. What are you going to cook? Can we do it in the hall kitchen? If not, we could spill over to the vicarage?”
“Jess, the Old School House is doing the heavy lifting. I’m just coordinating. I’m sure they will be happy with the change in venue. The church is closer.” Hmm, French cuisine, very fancy. I really was out of the loop.
“Right, we have a plan then.” I knelt down to comfort my friend. “See, Barbara - all sorted. Verity? Avril. More champagne!”
✽✽✽
Mum was next up to the main chair. Barbara joined Mandy and me in the waiting area whilst her blonde dye took. Crisis averted. She was having the time of her life. “This Is such a pleasant surprise. I am so blessed and tomorrow, I can’t believe it, but I am going to marry the most amazing man in the world!”
Everyone with a drink in their hands, and that was almost everyone, cheered.
“When did you decide to go with the chefs at the Old School House?” I asked. “I must have missed that memo.”
“Your sisters suggested it. Phil has never been there because he’s always working. I thought it would be a nice treat and you only do this once, eh, Reverend? It’s worth doing it right.”
We clinked glasses. “Indeed, it is.”
“I have the menu here, somewhere.” Barbara motioned to Mandy to pass across a large straw basket style handbag with coloured straw flowers near the braided handle mounts. Baby Melody reached out to grab the beaded tassels as it floated in front of her pushchair, caught the longest strand and put the beaded end straight into her mouth.
Mandy wrestled it away. “I’m so sorry. Here.”
“Thank you. It’s such a cute age. You have to watch them like a hawk, don’t you? Coochie-coochie, coochie-coochie coo!” Barbara tickled Melody’s dribbling chin. “Is she teething? Bless her heart.” Barbara waved the bag in my general direction. “The menu’s inside, it’s all in French, so I’m not sure what we’ll end up eating.”
I balanced my glass in one hand and rummaged through the straw bag with the other. “Rosie, do you know what they’ve ordered?” I called across to my sister, whose brunette tresses were in the final primping stages.
“Verrines de tartare de saumon fumé et mousse de homard for starters.” She replied without having to refer to the menu. Impressive!
“See! What’s that when it’s at home?” giggled Barbara. “I can’t even say it!”
R
osie turned her head, frustrating Dwayne's finishing touches. “It’s basically smoked salmon and lobster mousse. A very light first course.”
“Sounds delicious. I’m sure it will be wonderful.” I replied, waving my fingers in a circular motion to encourage Rosie to face the mirror again. “Dwayne needs your head back.”
Mandy was trying her best to keep her daughter amused with a wooden rattle. “Everything is more exotic in French. The English versions sound so dull.”
They do indeed. Take our mysterious Guenièvre Marron. What would the anglicised version of her name be? My hand trembled as I leaned to set my glass down on the table nearby. It couldn’t be, could it? Jess - you are a complete idiot! Guenièvre Marron is Jenny Brown!
✽✽✽
I was next up to sit under Dwayne’s magic hands. My instructions to him, though, were vague. How did I not spot it before? My mind was racing with the realisation that Jenny was Celeste’s daughter. This torrent of thoughts left little room for thinking about hair styles.
“A bob, like before. Toffee Latte was the colour I think.”
“Do you want to try anything more daring? Asymmetric, perhaps? Shaved? Or we could run an iced blue through the layers. Or some violet, perhaps? I think that would look great with your skin tone.”
I nodded absentmindedly. Dwayne squealed and ran off to the storeroom. I barely noticed he had gone. If Jenny is Celeste’s daughter, that explains their close relationship. It doesn’t explain why Ellen wound up dead… Or how she ended up on the beach?
“Barbara?” I rolled my chair over to the waiting area “Did you see Captain Jack Shipton from the Norma Jean, in the Cat and Fiddle on Sunday night?”
“That miserable soak?” Barbara answered between canapes “Yes, he was there, Reverend, moaning about the fireworks.”
“So, that puts him there about, what? Nine-thirty? Ten?”
“Yes, I guess so. Because of the kiddies we usually set them off just after it goes dark.”
“So, that means that the Norma Jean was in the harbour before nine.”
“I suppose so.”
“But she wasn’t.” Mandy piped in. “Bob saw her rounding the headland on his final crossing. That would have been around half ten.”
“He what? Has he told the police?” This additional information ricocheted around my brain like a squash ball.
Mandy looked puzzled. “I think so. I don’t know. I mean, he can’t have done, if the captain was in the pub, can he?” Unless someone else took the yacht out!
“Is your brother sure he saw the Norma Jean that night?”
“Yes, he was talking about it this morning. He didn’t pay it much mind till they made it public that the girl was onboard that particular yacht. I mean, he thought it strange at the time, but didn’t connect the dots. Most of the boats stay close to shore after dark.”
I wanted to ask more questions, but Dwayne dragged my chair back to his station.
“Right, Reverend, let’s play!”
Teamwork
I was desperate to relay all this new information to the police, but I was in the chair and couldn’t go anywhere for a good hour or so. There is a powerful school of thought that urges one to focus on the now. To stay mindful and appreciate the present. Perhaps, if I’d done that rather than filled my head with crazy murder plots. Or not frantically searched the web for clues to Ellen’s or Archie’s pasts. I would have noticed the strange colour of the dye mix in the plastic bucket Dwayne was holding. And I may have been aware that he was sectioning off my hair and applying a different shade to certain parts. But I didn’t. I was too immersed in the quest to find any trace of Ellen Findlay on social media.
“Ooh, so brave?”
“I love it!”
“That really suits you, Reverend,”
“Jessamy Ward! What have you done?”
The last comment was from my mother. Always a fan!
“Seriously Jessie, I adore it! Dwayne, you are a genius!” Zuzu twirled me around for all to see. “You look ten years younger.”
The chair came to a halt in front of the gilded mirror. Dwayne stood behind me, beaming with pride. “Well? What do you think?” He held up a smaller second mirror to show me the back. My reflection showed that he had cut the back into a graduated bob over two layers. The top was a warm brown, the bottom a cobalt blue. The back looked gorgeous. I wasn’t sure it matched my middle-aged face.
Jess, you have envied such courageous choices on others. Embrace it. Smile! It will grow out! “It’s lovely. Thank you.”
✽✽✽
The hen party, freshly beautified and giddy on canapes and champagne, headed to the Cat and Fiddle to reclaim the decorations and begin the move to the church hall. It would have been rude to abandon the group now, though I was hoping for a few minutes' grace to update the inspector.
Fortunately, Zuzu made the necessary introductions. “Dave, what do you think of Jessie’s cool new look?”
“Em, it’s, er, interesting. No offence, ladies, but this is a working incident room. Can you get everyone in and out as soon as possible?”
“Ooh, someone’s feeling the pressure.” Zuzu walked her fingers up his shirt buttons. “I know just the cure for that. But, business first.” She kissed the Baron on the cheek and flounced off to join the clacking hens pulling down the white curtains.
I lingered to share the latest updates gleaned from my conversation at the salon. “So, I think they sailed out again, using one of the spare keys, to dump Ellen’s body out to sea. They just didn’t reckon on the current washing her ashore so quickly.”
“Great work. And thank you for bringing it straight to me. I appreciate that.”
“A promise is a promise. No more detectiving for me.” I paused. “But, if we could crack the code in the diary. I know that would explain everything. Did your team open the laptop?”
“They did, Britney Spears was a good guess,”
“Inspired, I think you meant to say, but thank you.” I itched to get more intel. “And?”
“And?” Man, he was insufferable!
“And, what did they find?”
Dave’s telltale twitch worked overtime. “That, Reverend Ward, is police business.”
“Oh, Dave, come on.” I stamped my foot. “I have given you so much. You would never have learnt that Jenny was Celeste’s daughter without me. You now have another red-hot lead, right? That has to have scored me some Brownie points?”
“Yes, I will give you that. You have been very helpful. But a deal is a deal. Brownie’s honour, remember? You have acted as any good citizen would. Now be a good friend.” He cricked his neck, planted both hands on my shoulders and turned me towards my friends at the far end of the room. “You have plenty to keep you busy.”
Uh-huh, hold it right there. I pivoted back again. “Just tell me, did they find the key to the code used in the diary?”
“No, nothing. It was full of work stuff. Emails, excel sheets, reports. Nothing personal at all.”
“Don’t you think that’s strange? We didn’t even find a mobile. No Instagram, no Facebook? Look.” I got out my phone and searched for Ellen Findlay on Google. “She’s like a ghost!” Poor choice of words.
Dave grabbed the phone from my hand. “I knew it! You can’t help yourself. What else do you have on here?” He scrolled through my apps and landed on my snaps of the diary.
“I can explain.”
“Jess, please. I have to delete these.”
“No, you don’t.” I protested. “We can crack the code together. We’re missing something. Her phone is probably at the bottom of the channel, but there’s something old-school about having a paper diary, don’t you think?” Dave stroked his moustache. I knew it intrigued him. “Look, the way I see it, there are several possibilities here. What we don’t have is motive. The diary could give us that.” It’s now or never. “First, who sailed the Norma Jean out again Sunday night? I assumed Archie was talking about the diary when he said to
the girls ‘have you got my back on this’, but he could have been referring to the late-night cruise.”
Dave reached into his breast pocket and got out his notebook. “Go on.”
“Or it could have been Steve Huntsford, right? We know he can sail. But what motive would either man have? Either they killed Ellen, or they were helping the person who did. The killer shot Ellen with a flare gun, so…”
“Hold on, how did you know that?”
“I have my sources.” Don’t stop now, he’s hooked. “Steve would do anything to protect his wife. Celeste would have grounds to be angry with Ellen if she were trying to blackmail her over Jenny’s parentage. Or maybe it was Jenny herself. It could have been a row that got out of hand. Perhaps Sweetpea was a witness and the young women panicked and roped in poor Archie to help them?”
“But at least one of them asked Archie to steal the diary, so regardless of who sailed the yacht that night, that person knew of its existence and wanted the evidence to disappear.” Dave flicked back and forth through his notebook, looking for any clues.
“Or the two things are unconnected. Without breaking the code, we will never know.”
“Okay, okay. So do you have any idea how we can go about breaking the code? Maybe something her mother has told you?”
“Karen hasn’t said much, to be honest. Ellen was a fan of Britney Spears, Lara Croft and puzzles.”
“Tomb Raider? Okay. That might be useful, I’ll get the team on it.”
“There has to be something in her belongings. That bed was… Jenny!” Jess, where did you leave your brain? On cloud nine with lovely Lawrence, that’s where! “Jenny’s room at the manor. She made her bed the same way. I mean, Archie didn’t make Ellen’s bed. Jenny did.”
“So, Ellen was blackmailing Jenny. They fought. Jenny shot off the flare and then dragged Archie in on it. Got him to sail out the yacht after hours and steal the diary. That’s plausible.”
“It all works, but why? If Celeste already knew Jenny was her daughter, and their close relationship would suggest she did, what could Ellen have been blackmailing Jenny about?”
Consecrated Crime: A Rev Jessamy Ward Mystery (Isle Of Wesberrey Book 5) Page 12
