The Cin Fin-Lathen Mysteries 1-3 (17 page)

I left him and headed back downstairs.  I picked up the
papers I had left on the table and added Donald’s autopsy information to one of
the pages.

Noelle walked in with a plate full of biscuits as they call
them here.  They were warm and comforting. 

“Thought you could use these.”

“Was I that loud?” I asked taking a cookie.

“I was on my way to my room when you gave the Father a
lesson on religion.  I turned around and notified Angie we had a cookie
emergency.  Paz wanted to help, so don’t blame me if they taste odd.”

I bit into one.  It was buttery and light.  “My
compliments.”  Noelle leaned over and hugged me.

“This isn’t what you expected when you came over was it?”

“No, but life is never what one expects is it?  Would it be
ungrateful of me if I took the cookies and a flask of tea and whisky and headed
over to the Two-way River?  I need to think.”

Noelle smiled nodding.  “I’m going with you because if you
think too long, you won’t be able to find your way back.  I’ll bring a book. 
You won’t hear a peep out of me.  Ah, change your clothes.  I don’t think Angie
would like to see her mother’s dress full of grass stains, not to mention what
you could do to those shoes.”

“Yes, Mommy, right away.”  I got up and went upstairs to
change.  I broke a bra strap in my haste.  I didn’t want to disturb the father
by going into his room to get another one, so I opted not to wear one.  Who was
going to know?  I would just button up my shirt and voila!  I was saggy but
respectable.  I left the dormer and quietly walked down the stairs.  I tiptoed
past the blue room and down the last flight of stairs.  To my joy, Noelle had a
small hamper packed.  I walked over to the table and grabbed my papers.  I
would do some thinking along with my drinking.

~

Noelle led the way exclaiming over the wildflowers that
decorated the sides of the path.  I gazed upon my grown daughter with pride. 
The same accident of gene arrangement that had created Alex manly and
intelligent had created this petite voluptuous and likewise intelligent woman. 
Luke and I had nothing to do with it I was convinced.

Two-way river did not disappoint us with its late morning
face.  Under the shadows of the trees that lined that little glade it was cool,
but in the sunshine the air was perfect.  I plopped down, adjusted my
sunglasses that popped up when I laid down, and proceeded to reread my notes. 
Noelle as promised waded out to a large flat rock and sat up on it with her
book cradled in her lap.

We could have stayed there for hours.  Although fate didn’t
wait for two women to recharge their batteries, it arrived bounding out of the
woods in the guise of an out of breath Paisley Price.

“Cin, thank god I found you.  I have some important
information.  You will not believe this.”

“Slow down,” I waved at Noelle to come over, “what is so
important that it couldn’t have waited till we returned?”

“I suppose it could have waited, but I’m in a quandary. 
Part of this I don’t know if Angie can see or know or...argh!” Paz nearly sat
on my lap as her bottom found ground.

“Wait for me,” Noelle demanded.  She sat on my other side. 
“Okay, now.”

Paz handed me a scrawled list of names with information
jotted to the side of each.

Horace
Beaufort: Montreal Canada; deceased April 15, 2001 - hit and run, driver left
scene.

Ivan
Bendonovich: Missing, presumed dead; last known address Berlin, East Germany
1960.

Bentley
Hughes: Owner of Classic Compositions; living in Primrose Hill; married, two
children, four grandchildren.

Maurice
Sherborn: Conductor/Composer; short-listed for knighthood; Kensington, London;
widowed, no children; wife deceased – June 30, 1981.

Michael
Sherborn: Head gardener, Regents Park; single; Marylebone, London. 

“Whoa, wait a minute. Is this right?”  I pointed to Michael
Sherborn’s name.

“I gave my bloke all the names on the list Father Michael
gave me.  I didn’t remember till after Michael was dead.”

“Same Michael?”

“He don’t make mistakes.  I asked him, and he confirmed it.  That’s
the problem.  Angie was told this bloke was dead.  He’s not.”

“Bloody hell, did he dump her and tell his brother to tell
her he was dead?” Noelle asked.

“Maybe he killed Donald.  Went into hiding,” Paz theorized.

“Let’s not make any sudden conclusions.  Perhaps I better go
to London and talk to this Michael, find out his story.”

Noelle tapped the top of the paper.  “Mom, when was Bobby
Bathgate attacked?”

“I think it was the middle of April this year.”

“Looks like Horace was killed just before Bobby’s attack.”

A bad chill went through my body.  “Paz, do you have any
friends that can get more information on Horace’s hit and run?”

“Someone I know must know somebody, why?”

“It appears that our killer has targeted the class that
Donald was in.  It could have been any of the remaining men.  Or any of these
remaining men could be in danger.  I’m not going to assume that Ivan is dead
right now.  If he were dead then it would explain the use of his music.  He’s
killed before he can leave the Soviet Union to make a claim.  Or if he is
alive, is he in hiding for his life or the mastermind behind all these crimes?

“I need to also discuss with you two the possibility that
Donald may have been in on the theft.  And what about Michael, damn it, he better
have a damn good reason for being or playing dead.”

“I think we need to go to London.  The answers are there.  I
am sure of it,” Noelle said firmly.

“The killer is there too,” I reminded her.

“What about Angie?  She can’t stay here alone.  She’s still
at risk.”  Paz thought a minute.  “Angie wants to talk to Maurice, but we want
to talk to Michael first.  Father Michael will be going to be with his aunt in
London.  I don’t suppose he’ll want to be left out.”

“No, I don’t think he would.  Do you think that Billy would
go along with us, Paz?”

“I could ask him.  Why?”

“Somewhere, we will have to separate to get to Michael
before we all talk to Maurice.  If we had Billy he could stay with Angie for
that time.  We will have to be clever when we split up.  I can’t think that far
in advance, but I’m sure we will figure something out.”

“Where will we stay?  Angie has a flat, but I imagine it’s
small.  Father Michael will no doubt stay close to his aunt.  That leaves
Billy, Paz, you and I,” Noelle figured.

“That’s an easy one, yer going to stay with me mum and dad. 
It is just outside of London.  Billy can escort Angie in so she can be settled,
we will go directly to Regents Park and Billy can meet us there after he checks
out her flat.”

“Are you sure your mother isn’t going to mind?”

“I’ll go and call her now.  She loves to play hostess.  You
might have to double up, but she has room.”  Paz got to her feet. 

“Wait. I want to go with you.”  Noelle looked down at me.  “Mom,
will you be alright alone?”

“Please go.  I really need to think.  I think we should
start off as soon as we can.”

“Once we get a hold of Billy and Mrs. Price, I will make us
all train reservations.  It’ll be expensive.”

“Don’t worry.  Maybe I can line me up some more freelance
work when I get home.”

After the girls left I laid back on the grass and closed my
eyes.  I didn’t look forward to what we were going have to do.  Confront
Michael, the love of Angie’s life.  What if he was the killer?  I couldn’t put
the girls in any more danger.  I didn’t want to go alone, but I would if I had
to.  I stretched out in pure feline fashion, and I let the sun warm my bones. 
A shadow crossed the sun, and I looked up.  Father Michael stood before me.

“Paz sent me down, said you had some information for me?”  His
voice was odd, stilted.  Maybe he was still mad at me.  Hell, I would be mad at
me.

I tried to sit up.  It was difficult considering I let my
abs go to rot for the last few years.  I ended up rolling over on my knees.

“You’re not going to confess something are you because I
should tell you...”

“No, of course not.  I am just having a hell of a time
getting to my feet,” I said as I stood up.  I brushed the grass off my behind.

“Ah, could you...you know...button your shirt?” he said in
the same tone as before.

I looked down, and during my cat stretch a couple of buttons
on my shirt had opened.  It wouldn’t have been an issue had I been wearing a
bra, but...  I whipped around in embarrassment and fumbled with the buttons. 
Oh, what a pretty picture to come upon: me lying in full stretch, my shirt
opened displaying skin and the necklace. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know,” I said humiliated.

“It’s okay, but you make it awfully difficult sometimes. 
The bed smells like you.  I dreamt all night about you.  Your underwear is all
over the room.  I am having a hell of a time maintaining my control, and you
walk in wearing that beautiful dress.  Sure, I’m all prepared with my ‘I am a
man of the cloth’ speech, and you don’t even hit on me.  You come in and tell
me my religion is crap.  You sit too close to me.  I feel like I’m fourteen
years old.  So I come down here, and there you are, lying down on the grass
with practically nothing on but that pagan necklace.  You look like a sacrifice
to the sun.  Your curls are spread around you, and I want to take them up in my
hands.  I want to smell your hair, and I can’t even tell you what this fourteen
year-old has in mind for the rest of you.”

“Wow.  Hey, you aren’t an easy man to keep out of my
thoughts either.  I’m not going to feed your ego any further.  You made a
commitment to God.  Your friendship is too damn important to ruin over sex. 
Although I am sure it would be wonderful sex, anyway, where was I?”

“Thinking about having sex with me.”

“Thank you and my inflated ego thanks you too.  Now that’s
out of the way, let me fill you in on the information that Paz got.”

I told him everything I knew.  I showed him my papers, and
let him into my head concerning the risks I didn’t want to take with the girls
or Billy for that matter.

“I’ll go with you to talk to Michael.  It would be very
easy.  I wanted to meet my namesake.  We’ll ease into telling him about how my
uncle died, and then we tell him how surprised we are that we have found him
alive since his true love was told he was dead.”

“Why does it sound so simple when you say it?”  I wrinkled
my brow.

“I’m the priest.  The priests always know what to do in the
movies.”

“I don’t have to remind you what happens to priests in the
movies, do I?”

“No, and I do accept the risk you and I will take.  I have
one condition that you must follow.”

“Condition?  Okay I see you’re serious.  What?”

“Before we leave this farm, will you put on a bra?”

“Find me distracting?”  I arched my back and sucked in my
stomach as I walked backwards giving him my best poster-girl profile.  I was so
caught up in my teasing that I fell backwards into the Two-way River.  Karma.

Fortunately for my American Express account, Paz knew a guy
that got us a great deal on our overnight tickets to London.  Angie and I
doubled up, as did the men and the girls.  I was able to fill Chief
Superintendent Browning in on our immediate plans.  He said he would call ahead
and someone from the Met would meet the train at Paddington station.  The
constable would escort Angie to her flat and stay with her until our
appointment.  He didn’t want us interfering with his case and recommended
strongly that we stay away from Maurice Sherborn.  He had planned to be in
London that evening and would be talking to Maurice the next day.

Father Michael decided that we would have to talk to him
tonight before Maurice knew that he was a person of interest in the investigation. 
He had set up the appointment with Sherborn’s secretary, using his aunt Diane’s
married name, to talk to the composer about getting permission for Savannah’s
symphony to play some of his earlier work.  He felt by using her name we
wouldn’t show our hand if Maurice was indeed involved in this “nasty business.”

We arrived at Paddington Station at eight o’clock, which
left us four hours before our appointment with Maurice.  Constable Marie Davis
met us, and even though Angie wasn’t too pleased that we would be split up, she
was still in good spirits when she left with the officer.

“I guess I will have a chance at a nap before we meet up.”

I walked over to her and looked her in the eye.  “Please be
careful.  If anything looks suspicious...”

“I know, let the constable know.  I feel better knowing that
Billy is going with you.  Father Michael is a big guy but not as strong and
resourceful as a good Cornwall boy.” She paused and continued, “Billy is sweet
on our little Paz.  Don’t the two of them make an interesting pair?”

“Here you are matchmaking at a time like this, honestly.”  I
kissed her on the cheek and returned to the group.  She walked along playing
tug of war with the constable over who was going to carry her bag.  I wished
that I would have that much energy when I turned her age. 

“Paisley!”  A tall thin blond young man ran up and grabbed
Paz in a big hug.  Billy’s eyes clouded and his hands were flexing.

“Everybody, this is my cousin Peter.  He’s our contact at
the Royal Conservatory.”  She looked up at him.  “He comes from the tall side
of the family.”

“Hullo.”  Peter nodded and shook hands with the men.  “I
have been doing some digging for Paz here on Maurice Sherborn.  Besides having
an eclectic assortment of musical styles, the only other thing I could find is
that everything that he has done has been published or arranged through Classic
Compositions.”

“Isn’t Bentley Hughes still running Classic?” I asked him.

“Yes he is.  Classic Compositions has been keeping the
Hughes family in high style for a long time now.”

“I thought the Hughes family was wealthy?”

“Were wealthy.  Turns out Bentley’s father was mixed up in
some deal with the Germans.  After the war the family was ruined.  Then Bentley
comes to the rescue by signing Maurice to a contract, and they rebuilt
Classic’s reputation.  Maurice was married to Bentley’s sister.  She died some
time ago.”

“Where did you come up with all this?” Noelle grilled him.

He looked down at my very serious daughter and smiled.  “Gossip,
professors love to recall gossip.  In London it’s all about gossip.  It sells
papers, builds and fells empires.”  He winked at her.  “I have a cab waiting,
Paz says I’m to take your bags to her house.  Paz, your mother is driving
everyone nuts getting the place ready.”

“She likes to fuss.  Thank you Peter, I owe you one.”

“You can pay up now.”

“Bloody hell, what do you want.”

He bent over and whispered in her ear.

“Oh, sorry I have to ask.  Noelle, the giant wants your
phone number.”

My daughter blushed.  “Go ahead give and it to him, and
Peter...”

“Yes?”

“Make sure you use it,” Noelle said and flipped her hair as
she turned around and went to look at a newsstand nearby.  Now, that was a
performance.  I wonder if she was hyperventilating over there.

Peter looked very pleased and grabbed our bags.  He reminded
Paz which line of the underground to get on to take us to Regents Park.  This
being rush hour it was much quicker than taking a cab.

I walked over to get Noelle.  She was paying for a paper.

“He’s pretty cute,” I said.

“Oh, he is a charmer, as Paz would say.  Penniless musician
probably, but he seems pretty smart.  Don’t get that look in your eye.”

“What look?”

“The one that says, ‘Grandchildren.’” 

“Come on, I am too young to be a grandmother, it’s your
father...”

“Oh, speaking of Dad, I think that he’ll be kicking himself
for letting you go.”

“Dumping me.”

“Anyway.”  She opened up the paper and pointed to a small
headline:  International Detective Cin Fin-Lathen survives murder attempt. 
“Well it looks like our stealthy mission has been announced.”

“What else does it say?”

“I’ll read it to you.  Really, you ought to get reading
glasses.”

“I have reading glasses.”

“Where are they?”

“In my purse.”

“Why aren’t you wearing them.”

“They make me look old.”

“Honestly.  Ahem.  Cornwall: According to our sources
Detective Fin-Lathen found a missing American serviceman after being drugged
and thrown into a quicksand bog.  She was saved by her daughter and friends. 
The corpse has not been named at this time.  Detective Fin-Lathen, a United
States resident, was unavailable for comment.”

Noelle waited until we were on the tube train to show the
others the article.  When Father Michael read it he asked, “Who’s the source?”

We all answered at once, “Constable Cayne.”

“At least there isn’t a picture of you Cin, but we can be
sure that whoever was behind this knows for certain that you’re still alive and
Donald was found.”

“Father Michael, did you ever find out what happened to your
uncle, I mean besides being dumped in that bog?” Billy asked. 

He took a deep breath and looked hard at me as if to say he
was going to be all right.  “My uncle had been in a fight.  He was shot in the
stomach and dumped in the bog alive to drown.”

“I’m sorry if I am being indelicate,” Noelle started, “Did
they know what kind of bullet it was.  I mean could they tell if it was a
Russian bullet or an American bullet?”

“I didn’t ask. Why?”

“Considering the time period, I was just thinking if it was
a Russian bullet then it seems to me that Ivan killed Donald.  But if it was a
bullet shot from an American weapon, your uncle could have been shot by his own
gun.  In that case we wouldn’t be able to tell who killed him.”

“I see where you’re going with this,” I jumped in. “We could
apply the same logic to our other suspects.”

“But if it was a civilian gun then Maurice didn’t have to be
strong to subdue my uncle.  He just shot him and kicked the hell out of him
before dumping his body.  I’ll call my aunt when we get to the Baker Street
station and have her follow up on this.”

“Give her this number.”  Paz handed him a slip of paper. 
“Peter loaned me his cell phone,” she explained as she stared at the phones
screen.  “Oh bloody hell, the cell won’t work in here.  We’ll have to wait till
we get topside.”

“Penniless musicians don’t have cell phones,” I hissed at my
daughter.  She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms.

“I have a question, Ms. Fin-Lathen.”

“What, Billy?”

“Does anyone know what this Michael Sherborn looks like?”

“No.”

“Then how are we going to find him?  Walk around the park
and yell his name?  Seems like a way to get us or him killed.”

“Can I?” Noelle asked and didn’t wait for permission.  “We
go to the park office and ask where he’s working today.”

I was glad she was around.  I had planned on running around
the park yelling his name.  “Remember the plan is that once we locate him,
Father Michael will approach him.  We don’t want to tip him off if he is in on
this or if he’s innocent give the old guy a heart attack.”

“He bloody well deserves a heart attack for abandoning
Angie.  Broke her heart, he did.  Ruined her life.”  Paz put her arm through
Billy’s.  “You wouldn’t do that to me would ya?”

“Only if you were pregnant.”

She pulled away and almost slugged him.  The twinkle in his
eye stopped her.  “Damn comedian.  You were almost sporting a black eye.”

“Please, let’s keep cool heads on our shoulders.  I don’t
have to remind you that this isn’t a picnic we’re going to.  First sign of
trouble call the constables.  What is the emergency number here, at home it’s 911.”

“999,” Paz, Noelle and Billy said in chorus.

“Okay, 999.”

We got off at Baker Street, crossed Park Road and walked
into the park.  Michael called his aunt while we were walking.  Noelle having
studied a semester in London spent a lot of time in this park.  She knew where
the office was and ran ahead of us to get the information on Michael Sherborn. 
We all stood around until she came running back.

She was out of breath but still managed to give us the bad
news.  “They think he’s either in Queen Mary’s Gardens - you remember, Mom, the
rose garden - or up by the outdoor theater.”

“I can find the rose garden.  Father Michael, you come with
me.  Give the phone to Paz.  You kids go to the theater.  We will wait at the
rose garden if we don’t find him and wait for one of you to come and get us if
you find him.  Lord, that sounds confusing.”

“Don’t worry yerself, we getcha,” Paz said and the three of
them left.

We walked along in silence.  Father Michael was in street
clothes, and I had managed to find a clean outfit.  My Doc Martin boots were
laced tight.  There was no way I was going to lose any more shoes. 

“This is so beautiful,” Father Michael said looking around.

“This isn’t anything compared to the rose garden.  The first
time I was here it was in the first weeks of May. The roses were just beginning
to bloom.  They’ve had a warmer spring, so I am hoping to see...”

We walked into the garden and all words escaped me.  The
roses where blooming.  There were roses hanging in chains circling the garden. 
Benches were placed every few yards.  I remember taking a picture of Noelle on
one of those green benches.  The color and fragrance was overwhelming.  On
either side of the center walk different varieties of roses were planted in
mass.  Their names were placed on markers to educate the admirers.

I had forgotten why we were there and was trying to read a
marker without my reading glasses when a voice asked.

“Can I be of service ma’am?” the voice belonged to a fit
older man with startling blue eyes. His hair was thick and gray and his skin
tan from constant exposure.

I took a chance. “You wouldn’t happen to be Michael Sherborn
by any chance?”

He smiled.  “What kind of chance?  Chance meeting?  Fateful
chance?  Is this a blind date?” he teased.

He had me so flustered.  “Ah, well?” was all I could say.

He took a little bow.  “Michael Sherborn, Head Gardener, at
your service...”

“Cin, Cin Fin-Lathen.”  Shit, I told him my name, sure spill
your guts, get yourself killed and while you’re at it...

“Well, you sound like an American.  Now what would an
American, a fiery one at that, be wanting of me?  Must be my body.”  He winked
at me.  “Sorry to tell you I lost my heart in my youth and my body is not for
sale.”

I was still stammering and sputtering when Father Michael
saved me.

“Mr. Sherborn, I’m Father Michael Williams, and I have been
looking for you.”

“I have no time for religion, Father.  I have the roses to
attend to.”

“I’m sorry. I’m Donald Williams’s nephew.  I’m your
namesake.”

“Donald?  Wait let me think.  Donald Williams!  The hymn
writer.  Great lad!  How is he?  It has been about...a lot of years...I guess
since before the war broke out.  He was at Bathgate with my brother and me. 
Good decent fellow, especially considering that he was an American.  Is he here
too?” Michael looked around.

“Mr. Sherborn...”

“Call me Michael, Michael.”  He looked at me.  “Us with the
same names, how are you going to tell us handsome lads apart?”

“Michael, can I ask you a question?”

“So you can speak.  Go ahead.”

“What do you remember about Bathgate?”

“Unfortunately, everything.  The place haunts and tortures
me.  You see I met my true love there.  I left her to go to war, and when I
came back my brother told me she had been killed.  Bathgate bombed, nothing
left.  But I keep her alive in my memories.  Her name was Angela, she was my
love.”  His eyes misted.  “But enough sadness, tell me about Donald.”