Annabelle got up and went to her wardrobe. First, she donned a pair of heavy jeans and a t-shirt. Next, she put on a sweatshirt, a pair of thick gardening gloves, a pair of rubber boots, and finally a mask that she’d borrowed from Andy Kedgewick. Andy was a champion scuba diver who spent most of his time in exotic parts of the world swimming with wildly colorful fish. Andy was a popular speaker at the Women’s Institute although Annabelle wasn’t sure if his annual invitation was down to the entertainment the women derived from his slideshow of unusually shaped coral reef or the visual of the tanned, muscular, diver himself.
There was nothing exotic about the task Annabelle had in mind, however. She knew from bitter experience that getting Biscuit to the veterinary clinic required meticulous planning and stealth worthy of a military operation. She said a little prayer.
Annabelle reached into the bottom of the wardrobe where she’d hidden the cat carrier the night before, and opening its door in readiness and hiding it behind her back, crept out of her bedroom in search of Biscuit.
She was sleeping by the radiator in the living room. Annabelle nonchalantly walked up to her, looking up at the ceiling, muttering to herself, as if Biscuit was the last creature on her mind. As she got close, Biscuit lifted her head sleepily and regarded Annabelle with disinterest. For once, Annabelle appreciated her disregard and walked past her before circling back. Quick as a flash, she reached out with her gloved hand to grab Biscuit by the scruff of her neck and whisk her into the cat carrier. By the time Biscuit realized what was happening, it was too late, and Annabelle, in a well-executed move, dropped the lid down, fastening it securely before sitting on it to make absolutely sure Biscuit couldn’t get out.
“Phew,” Annabelle said brushing her hair from her goggles. A feeling of exhilaration hit her. She raised her arms in the air, her fists clenched. “I did it! And no war wounds. No scratches or bites!” Biscuit was mewling loudly. “Sorry Biscuit, it won’t be for long. We’ve got to go see Dr. Whitefield. For shots and things. You’ll be fine. You’ll see.” She kneeled down and poked her finger through the wire before pulling it back quickly. She’d come this far without injury, best not to spoil things now.
She heard the back door open and close.
“Yoo-hoo, it’s only me!” Philippa called out.
“I did it, Philippa! I did it!” Annabelle held up the cat carrier gleefully. She felt as proud as a toddler showing the postman her belly button. Biscuit was still howling inside.
“Well, that’s a relief. Last time, I wasn’t sure you’d get out of here alive,” Phillipa said.
“Oh, my gosh, wasn’t that terrible?” answered Annabelle. “I had scratches everywhere. And I had no idea how to get her down from that overhead beam. She stayed up there for two days, you know.”
“I do know, Vicar. I was the one who climbed up and got her down.
“Oh yes, that’s right. You were very brave, Philippa.”
“Hmm, I don’t know about that. More like exasperated. The standoff couldn’t continue. Anyway, that’s all in the past now. Where were you last night? How’s the investigation coming along?”
“I was stumbling around the moors with Mike. We got lost.”
“I’ll bet you did, Reverend.” Phillipa turned away, a small smile playing on her lips.
“No, we did, Philippa. And we came across two women taking a wild pony. We think they were rustling. It was very strange.”
“Hmm, that is odd. You’re not going to investigate that too, are you?”
Annabelle pursed her lips, turning down the corners of her mouth and waggling her head from side to side. She raised her eyebrows and looked at the ceiling.
“Annabelle,” Philippa chided. “You won’t have time for your congregation at this rate!” Philippa pulled out the flour from the cupboard, followed by a packet of sugar. She opened the fridge and set some butter on the counter. She busied herself lining a cake pan until she could hold herself in no longer.
“And how is the Inspector?”
“What? Oh, he’s alright.” Annabelle flopped in a chair at the kitchen table, her scuba diving mask pushed up onto her forehead. She took a breather, basking in the euphoria of knowing her day’s toughest task was behind her, and it wasn’t even 9 AM. “He’s going back to the conference tonight.”
“Will you see him again? Before he goes back, I mean.”
“I don’t know, Philippa.” Annabelle was a little tetchy. A vague sense of loss and sadness crept over her, like she had made a mistake or missed an opportunity, perhaps made a fool of herself the previous evening.
Philippa changed the subject. ‘I’m glad they have that man in custody again. That girl’s father. From the big house. The one Barbara was talking about.”
“They have? No one said so in the pub last night.” Annabelle thought back and realized that Mike and she hadn’t exactly invited social conversation as they had hugged their table in front of the fireplace. An icy wave ran through her as she suppressed a shudder of embarrassment. Biscuit was letting out a constant stream of yowls and now that the euphoria from her capture had waned, Annabelle was feeling the beginnings of a headache.
“They hauled him back in after the second murder almost immediately. The Chief Inspector’s convinced it’s him, so they say. What do you think?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Venables was very angry that evening, that’s for sure, and he’d clearly been drinking. And he threatened Theo. But why would he kill Thomas? Thomas was a sweetheart who just wanted what was best for his mum. Why would anyone want to kill him?” Annabelle sighed. “Anyway, it’s nearly time for Biscuit’s appointment. I’d best get going.” She quickly ran upstairs to change before returning to the kitchen wearing her more familiar cassock and clerical collar.
Annabelle stood in front of the cat carrier and gave a short, sharp exhale, her hands out in front of her as if she were preparing for a bout of karate. With a sudden thrust, she picked up the carrier, prompting Biscuit to let out a particularly aggrieved growl. “Come on Biscuit, it isn’t that bad. Anyone would think I was torturing you.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
On the way to the vets, Annabelle passed Penelope Paynter on her chestnut mare, Equinox. She gave them a wide berth and Penelope raised her hand in thanks as she passed. Annabelle thought back to the pony rustling and the injured children at the rehearsal. She decided to make some phone calls.
“Pat? It’s Annabelle. No, no, everything is fine. Tell me, I saw Tabitha was on crutches at rehearsal the other day.” There was a pause as Annabelle listened to Tabitha’s mother’s reply. “Really? That’s terrible.” Another pause. "I know, but still. Give her our love, won’t you? Tell her I hope she's is able to cast those crutches off very soon.”
After the call ended, Annabelle phoned the Simmonds family, followed by the Crackers, the Rinkers, and the Trebuthwicks. Chloe had shown up to rehearsal with broken fingers, George with his arm in a sling, Nancy had injured both her feet, while Timmy was covered in nasty grazes. They all had a similar story. All had been injured in falls. From horses.
Annabelle nipped into a parking space a few doors down from the veterinary surgery along the pretty high street that ran through the village. The cobbled street had low sidewalks that rose barely two inches either side of the road and was lined with stone mews cottages, some of them whitewashed, their square frontages unchanged in centuries thanks to their listed building status. The restrictions on development that preserved the heritage of the village gave it a timelessness rare in today’s fast-paced modern world. Aside from the street lamps, cars, and fashions, one might think Upton St. Mary locals still lived in the 18th century.
Annabelle texted the information about the children’s injuries to Mike before hurrying around to the passenger door. She reached in to grab the cat carrier. She wanted this visit to the vet to be over with as soon as possible. Biscuit was still mewling bitterly. Annabelle swung the carrier around and with her foot, closed the car door, only to nea
rly overbalance onto the pavement.
“Careful, Vicar!”
Sally bobbed and stretched out her arm to steady Annabelle, who was taller than she by some inches. With Sally was Julia. Barnaby was with them, poking out of Julia’s jacket pocket as usual, his ears askew, one down, one up, propped there by the fabric of her jacket.
“Oof, thank you, I’m fine. Just taking Biscuit to the vet. She’s not a fan.”
“I can tell.”
Julia bent down and made little clicking noises with her tongue. Biscuit immediately stopped her noise and leaned forward to investigate Julia’s face. She sniffed the fingertip Julia laid on the carrier grille.
“What? How do you do that? She’s been making a racket for the past thirty minutes!”
Julia smiled. “You just have to have the knack, Reverend. Not everyone has it.”
“Well, I wish you could teach me. How are things up at the house?”
“Oh, you know, a little somber. We wanted to get out for some fresh air, so we thought we’d take a walk into town. They arrested my father again, did you know?” Sally said.
“Yes, I did hear something about that.”
“I simply can’t believe it. I know my father can be a hothead, and I know he’s got form, but that was decades ago. He would never kill anyone, let alone two people and certainly not someone like Thomas.” Sally wrung her hands and looked like she was about to cry again.
“At least we’re getting on a little better. Now that Sally’s father has been arrested again, we can stop suspecting one another,” Julia said.
Sally glared at her. “How nice for you.”
“How are the others doing?” Annabelle asked.
“Margaret stays in her room, mostly. I took her some supper last night. We hadn’t seen her all day. She looked pale and tired, but she was alive,” Julia said matter-of-factly. “Suki, is well, Suki. Dippy. The selfies continue unabated.” Julia, sensing Biscuit was getting restless, leaned down to click her tongue at her again.
“And what about Scott? He seemed very perturbed the other night.”
“Scott’s still very upset about Theo. Thomas’ death has just made it all the harder. He feels so bad that some of his last words with Theo were spoken in anger,” Sally said.
“Were they? I didn’t know that.” Julia was surprised.
“They were arguing about money, Julia,” Annabelle explained.
“They also discussed your idea for a donkey sanctuary,” Sally added. Her voice had a hard edge to it.
“What about it?” Julia was suddenly a lot more alert.
“Said we couldn’t afford it. He told me yesterday when I went to see him at the forge. Theo and Scott did argue about money, but they agreed on the subject of your donkey sanctuary. Neither of them wanted it.”
“Scott never told me.”
“No well, he, um…” Sally started to falter, “…also thought that you weren’t, um, up for the responsibility. Said if you were so emotionally attached to animals that you needed to carry a rabbit around with you all the time, you wouldn’t be able to manage, and the rest of us would have to help out. He didn’t want to get lumbered with the work of it if you couldn’t cope.”
Julia took a long breath in through her nose and drew herself up to her full height.
“Is that so? Well, it’s nice to know who your friends are, isn’t it?” Julia jammed her hands in her pockets, causing Barnaby to shift over. He seemed unperturbed. Julia stared at the ground, tapping her foot.
“I’m sorry, Julia. But perhaps he’s right. You are a bit… well, fragile at times. I know you love your animals, but...” Sally trailed off as Julia looked up angrily.
“I shall have something to say to Scott when I get back.” Julia strode off.
“Oh dear, I’ve made things worse, Reverend.” Sally looked imploringly at Annabelle. “Things aren’t good at the house. We’re all nervous, all on edge. Everyone wants the culprit to be my dad, and I feel stuck in the middle. I can’t mention my doubts because if it wasn’t him, it must have been one of us! I don’t know what to think. It’s an awful situation to be in.”
Annabelle put Biscuit’s carrier down on the ground and ignored the yowling that had started up again now that Julia had moved away. She took Sally in an embrace.
“I do hope things get cleared up for you soon. Perhaps you should go home, spend some time with your mother. I’m sure she needs you, what with your father in custody.”
Sally pulled away from Annabelle and sniffed.
“Yes, perhaps you’re right. Perhaps I’ll get away. I don’t know how the Brotherhood can possibly stay together after this.” She pressed her lips together sadly, tears welling in the corners of her eyes. “I should catch up with Julia. I said too much. I’ll talk to her some more. Calm her down. Goodbye, Vicar. I’ll see you soon.”
“Goodbye, Sally. Take care now,” Annabelle watched as Sally walked quickly down the street, past the newsagents, the estate agents and new curry house, before acceding to Biscuit’s demands. She sighed, bent down to pick up the carrier and pushed open the white wooden door beneath a bright green awning that announced “Veterinary Surgery.”
Inside, the reception area was brightly lit with fluorescent lights. The walls, like the outside, were painted brilliant white and were bare except for the noticeboard that announced the date of the next cat adoption fair, the details of a number of lost pets, and the availability of local animal bereavement services. The tiled floor was white too, although not quite so brilliant as the walls. The floor wasn’t even, and cracks had appeared in the tiles.
Annabelle didn’t recognize the young woman behind the reception desk, her face so smooth it was shiny, but as so often happened, the receptionist recognized her.
“Good morning, Reverend. Who do you have with you today?”
“Biscuit Dixon, annual checkup.” Annabelle lowered her voice. “Vaccinations,” she whispered, pointing down at the carrier and shaking her head.
“Ah yes, here you are,” the woman looked up from her computer. “Someone will be out to see you in a minute. Please take a seat.”
Annabelle walked over to one of the chairs and sat down, placing the carrier on her lap. Biscuit looked around at her fellow patients, and letting out another yowl, promptly backed up as far as her carrier would allow. Annabelle looked around too, assessing the terrain. Veterinary surgery waiting rooms were often fraught, unpredictable places.
She caught the eye of Justin Case, an unfortunately named teenage boy who she knew had an equally unfortunate habit of occupying the only cell at the police station on a semi-regular basis. Justin was partial to petty pilfering, a tendency he appeared unable, or indeed, unwilling to curb. Faced with the recurring news that her son had stolen seemingly random items of zero value, items such as odd ends of rope, empty bottles, packaging peanuts and the like, his exasperated mother would cry, “What for, Justin? What for?” “Just in case,” he assured his mother, when she bailed him out of a morning following the previous night’s transgression, “It’s my name, innit?” In this case, Justin held a cage containing a bearded dragon whose only moving body part appeared to be his eyelids.
Across from him sat Mr. Penrose, but today he didn’t have his Pitbull, Kylie, with him. Instead, a miniature English Bulldog sat in his lap, its nose flattened like a boxer’s, its pink tongue hanging out as it panted.
“New puppy, Mr. Penrose?”
“Yes, isn’t she gorgeous? I’m thinking of calling her Clarissa.”
Clarissa had a white snout, forehead, and neck, but the rest of her was brown. Her loose, wrinkled skin looked like an expensive camel-colored overcoat, the type of which is generally worn by managers of Premier League football teams on winter match days. However, in Clarissa’s case, it was three sizes too big for her.
Clarissa slowly looked around at Annabelle before her eyes dropped to Biscuit and indifferently roved away again.
“She’s lovely,” Annabelle said optimis
tically.
“Biscuit!”
Annabelle stood up, pleased to be away from the staring Justin and the breathless Clarissa.
“That’s us!”
“Come with me.” Biscuit started to yowl again and the veterinary assistant took the cat carrier from Annabelle. Silence immediately descended.
“How do you do that?”
“What?”
“Get her to cooperate. She fights with me constantly.”
“Oh, you just have to have the knack. If you don’t have it, you don’t stick with this type of job for very long. Animals always know, you know.” The veterinary assistant left the small consulting room leaving Annabelle wondering what exactly it was that animals knew, when they knew it, why she didn’t know it, and what it all meant.
A few minutes later, the door swung open and Dr. Whitefield, the vet, came in. Annabelle always thought Dr. Whitefield resembled a cow. He was huge, with floppy jowls and big, fat hands. All he had to do was take a black marker pen to his white coat and the transformation would be complete.
“Good morning, Reverend. How are you?”
“Very well, Dr. Whitefield.”
“Who have you brought in to see me today?”
Annabelle went through the same routine she had at the reception desk.
The vet opened up the cat carrier and lifted Biscuit out. Annabelle stepped back in alarm, her arms in front of her face ready to defend herself, but Biscuit was as floppy and compliant as a sleeping baby.
“How do you do that?”
“You have to have—“
“I know, I know, the knack.” They both finished together and laughed.
The vet examined Biscuit, took her temperature and gave her the necessary shots, all without drama or injury.
Killer at the Cult Page 16
