Never Laugh as a Hearse Goes By: A Penny Brannigan Mystery (6 page)

The Body in the Library,
by Agatha Christie.

Davies smiled back. “Oh, God, I hope not.”

Ten

Minty Russell was new to this, but you had to start somewhere and really, how hard could it be? Lots of people had done it and the only ones you ever heard about were the ones who got caught. She, Minty, was in possession of sensitive information that a certain lady would wish withheld from her husband, who held a prominent position, and therefore that lady would be more than willing to pay Minty for her silence. Yes, that was it. Miss Russell would think of it as confidential services. Discretion assured! Secrets kept! That other word, the one that started with
B,
was so unsavoury. She would think of Mrs. Blaine as her client. Victim is such a negatively charged word with unfortunate connotations. After all, agreeing to the arrangement would be Mrs. Blaine’s choice, so where’s the victimization in that?

She leaned back in the comfortable chair, slipped off her patent leather shoes with the bows on the toes, and rubbed her feet together. She smiled to herself as she reached into her handbag for the small bottles of vodka and orange juice she had brought with her.

She poured a generous splash of vodka into the glass, topped it up with juice, and reached for her steno notebook. The little business venture she had in mind was, technically, a crime, so she’d have to think everything through very carefully—and there was not much time. She marveled at her bold thinking. A few months ago she would never have even thought of something as audacious as this. But something in the way the bishop had been speaking to her recently had pushed her to the brink. Did she really owe any loyalty to someone who spoke to her like that? Who was so dismissive of everything she did to help him? Who took her for granted?

But what if she were caught? She took a sip and thought about that for a moment. And then a slow smile teased the corner of her mouth. It was most unlikely that Mrs. Blaine would report her to the police or tell her husband. And just suppose she were to have other clients. In the worst case scenario, they would report her to the bishop. And it wouldn’t matter if they did.

You’d think a bishop would be the first person to go to the authorities if he discovered something as illegal as well, blackmail, going on right under his nose, Minty thought, but actually, the opposite would be true. He would not want the terrible stench of scandal spreading through his bishopric. He would not want to have to explain to the archbishop how something like this could have happened on his watch. And a man in his position would most certainly not want his good name dragged through the sordid headlines of the red top press. When the media had finished their feeding frenzy, his career would be ruined beyond redemption.

Feeling confident and reassured, Minty moved on to mulling over the logistics of how to execute her plan.

How could she approach Mrs. Blaine without her husband knowing? Could she catch her for a few moments tomorrow morning, perhaps? Before that artist woman, Penny Brannigan, spoke? Yes, that might work.

Now, as to the amount. Fortunately, she managed the couple’s personal accounts and knew exactly how much per month Mrs. Blaine could spare without her husband noticing. Of course, she would have to cut back here and there on the housekeeping to meet Minty’s demands, but Minty had no doubt her client would find a way. Cooked properly, cheaper cuts of meat can be every bit as tasty as the expensive joints the Blaines enjoyed once or twice a week.

She took a small sip of her drink. And then there was the creative financial business in Reverend Shipton’s parish. Definitely something dodgy going on there that he wouldn’t want the bishop to know about. The accountant was meant to arrive late morning, join them for lunch, and then give his presentation on the church finances. She’d find the right moment for a quiet word with Nigel Shipton and the accountant on some pretext or other, and if her suspicions were right, she could very well have two more clients before the day was out!

But why stop at three?

There was also the not-so-small matter of Graham Fletcher and his academic credentials. Or, to be precise, his lack of academic credentials. The bishop had asked her to check Reverend Fletcher’s curriculum vitae as a formality so he could approve his appointment, and Minty had done her due diligence. Reverend Fletcher had completed most of the requirements for a Master’s degree in divinity from Oxford but there was the inconvenient loose end of an incomplete thesis. So close, Reverend Fletcher, but not quite there. Really, an ambitious man with his aspirations should have known better, Minty thought. You just don’t expect that kind of deception from a man in his position, or at least the position he fancied himself in. And such an exemplary career in all other respects. Still, for some reason she didn’t understand at the time, she’d decided to tell the bishop everything was in order. Perhaps subconsciously she’d thought this information might come in useful one day … give her some power over Reverend Fletcher, a favour she might call in when the time was right and the stakes were high enough.

Oh, this is deliciously easy, she thought. Why hadn’t she thought of this simple scheme years ago? She needed more money herself just to have some kind of decent life and soon, to fund a comfortable retirement. And the extra money coming in would go a long way to helping her sister recover from her cancer operation. She might even be able to afford for her to go private, to get better care. Or hire a private nurse to look after her as she convalesced. And perhaps when Constance was recovered they might arrange a foreign holiday to someplace truly exotic. Not one of those cheap fortnights in Spain, all in, kind of thing. No, some place truly wonderful and unforgettably exotic … Istanbul or the Far East, perhaps. Just the two of them. It would all be so much better without her awful brother-in-law trailing along, drinking too much, complaining all day long about the heat and finding endless fault with the food and accommodation. Easing her sister’s burden was a good enough reason right there, she told herself. In the meantime, she’d at least be able to pay for someone to come in and do the cooking and cleaning until her sister was back on her feet.

Minty looked at her own feet. She had always fancied a pair of those expensive shoes with the red soles that all the celebrities wore and if all went according to plan, it wouldn’t be long before she could afford a pair. She laughed lightly. What would the bishop say if she turned up for work one morning in a pair of those? She laughed a little more at the very thought of it. And then she realized he would probably take no notice. But at the very least she could treat herself to a nice new brown leather handbag. Or maybe two. Black goes with just about everything.

She poured herself another drink, and made it a little stronger this time. She was excited and elated; sleep wouldn’t come easy.

Eleven

The next morning after breakfast the conference goers divided into two groups, with church officials heading to the Anwyl Room, a small conference room on the ground floor beside the Gladstone Room, where the opening reception had been held the night before. The spouses went upstairs to the book-lined Robinson Room where Minty and the bishop’s wife, who had arrived a few minutes early to check the room, were waiting to welcome them.

“Do you have everything you need?” Minty asked Penny as the women filed into the room.

“Yes, I think so,” said Penny. “I’ve got a few handouts and samples here. I won’t need the projector or anything like that. I’m all very low tech, me.”

When the last of the participants was seated, Mrs. Blaine stepped out into the hall and Minty turned to Penny and said, “Oh, I almost forgot. The bishop has requested that you join us at the main table for lunch.” As Penny bent over her notes, Minty straightened a few books on the bookshelves behind the door before following the bishop’s wife into the hall, closing the door behind her.

“Would you mind if we kept the door open?” Bronwyn asked Penny. “I love the natural light and it seems a shame to shut it out.”

“No, of course not,” said Penny. “And aren’t the other two joining us? I’ll see what they’re up to.” She opened the door and stuck her head out. The corridor outside the Robinson Room led to the bedrooms to her left and behind the closed door on her right, to the staircase to the ground floor. The warden’s office was located at the far end of the corridor, on the other side of the staircase.

A row of leaded windows with deep-set sills overlooking the Gladstone statue at the front of the building let in warm light that cast window-shaped patterns along the green-carpeted corridor. Pamela Blaine and Minty Russell, who were speaking in low tones as they leaned against a windowsill a little way down from the Robinson Room, seemed startled to see her and immediately turned and disappeared down the staircase. Penny returned to the room where the women were waiting for her presentation to begin.

“That’s odd,” she said to Bronwyn. “I thought they’d be joining us but they’ve disappeared. I guess they’ve got better things to do.”

“Well, never mind. I’m sure Minty has loads of arrangements to see to. It’s all go when you’re in charge of a conference. So much to do behind the scenes.” Bronwyn looked cheerfully around the room at the dozen or so women seated at table. “But we’re all keen to hear your presentation, aren’t we?” The women murmured agreement and Penny began discussing the life and work of Owen Jones, an influential Welsh architect and textile designer. English born, he was a founder of what is now the Victoria and Albert Museum in London and, Penny thought appropriately for the Library setting, his work was hugely influenced by the art and ornament of the Islamic world.

Forty-five minutes later, the women murmured words of thanks to Penny as they trooped out. “Well, I think that went pretty well,” she said to Bronwyn as she packed up her samples and patterns. “Was it what you expected? Do you think they enjoyed it? I tried to keep it interesting and light, but honestly, this whole idea of doing a presentation for the few women here seems a bit daft. I wonder what the point of it was.”

Bronwyn laughed and raised her hands. “Don’t look at me.”

“Well, we have some time to spare before lunch. Should we go to the Library? I’ve been dying to see it.”

“I think I’ll wait and see it with Thomas, if you don’t mind, Penny. But you go on ahead.”

*

“Right, then,” said the bishop when the rectors were seated around the table in the Anwyl Room. “As you know, over the past few years we have been experiencing a huge increase in theft in our rural churches, from Bangor to St. Asaph and every place in between to right here in Hawarden. And this scourge is not just happening to us in Wales—this epidemic is sweeping right across the British Isles. So joining us this morning to advise us on what we can do in our own parishes to combat this theft and thuggery is,” he glanced down at the card Minty had given him, “is Detective Chief Inspector Gareth Davies of the North Wales Police Service.” The bishop made a small gesture in Davies’s direction. “I’ll turn it over now to DCI Davies.”

“Good morning.” Davies smiled at the earnest, sincere faces gazing at him. “I was delighted to be given the chance to speak to you today about an epidemic that concerns every one of us. Because it isn’t only churches being stripped of their valuable metals—war memorials have been defaced for their metal and worryingly, copper wiring is being ripped out of electrical substations. And recently, we had a situation in which idiotic vandals actually tried to burn down a telegraph pole so they could steal the wiring attached to it. And all the damage these mindless vandals are doing takes a huge toll on the public purse. They will do whatever kind of destruction it takes to steal a few hundred pounds worth of materials. And then it takes thousands of pounds to repair the damage they caused. Not to mention putting lives at risk when metals are stolen from, say, railway lines.

“But we’re here to focus specifically on the theft of precious metals from churches, what you can do to prevent it, and what the police are doing about the problem.”

An hour later, Davies began to wrap up.

“So we’ve asked all scrap metal merchants to alert us to anything suspicious and we ask you to be vigilant and join your Neighbourhood Watch. And sadly, of course, it is no longer safe to leave your churches unlocked.” The room was still, the only sound the soft scratching of Minty Russell’s pencil as she took notes in her steno notebook. When Davies paused to meet the eyes of his audience, Minty’s pencil remained poised over the page. “I know you want your churches to be places of quiet reflection, where anyone may find refuge for a few moments of prayer or contemplation, but we no longer live in a world where that’s possible. You may, of course, have open hours at specific times, but to deter theft and vandalism, you must have a church official present and visible when the church is open.”

Davies answered a few questions and handed out leaflets. After the bishop thanked him and invited him to join his table at lunch, the group broke for morning coffee in the Gladstone Room next door, where the warden was waiting to receive them. Davies spoke to him briefly but was interrupted by the apologetic arrival of Minty Russell.

“I’m so sorry to take you away, Warden,” she said, “but I wonder if I might have a word. It’s rather important, I’m afraid.” She smiled at Davies, and the two moved to an empty corner of the room where she and the warden were soon deep in conversation. Davies watched them for a moment and then, just as he turned to set down his empty coffee cup and saucer, he noticed Minty hand the warden an envelope.

*

Deciding that her library visit could wait, and wanting some fresh air and exercise, Penny decided to accompany Bronwyn on a walk through the Hawarden Castle parkland before lunch. Bronwyn was especially keen to go as the spot was popular with local dog walkers and, missing her Robbie, she hoped the sight of other dogs would soothe her longing.

Twelve