Up from the Grave (16 page)

“Know him?” Coral’s jaw tightened. “He is, was, my husband.”

“Was, really?” Lillie repeated with a definite surprise in her voice.

“One morning I find the note on the kitchen table, ‘Going back to Jamaica. Will come for you.’ That was almost two years ago, and Ezra was his parting gift.” Coral knitted her thin brows. “We never hear from him again. I don’t know where he is, and I can’t pay any of his bills.”

“We’re not bill collectors. We only hoped that Joby, your husband, could tell us about Wanda Pitts,” Berdie assured.

“She’s dead,” Coral said baldly.

“Yes, we’re aware, but we hoped to learn more about her for the sake of one in our parish.” Berdie looked at Lillie who nodded.

Coral grabbed an apple from the market bag Berdie held and handed it to her oldest. “Here Jo Jo, go play by the door.”

The child scampered off and took a bite of his red treat.

“My husband tells me to stay away from Mrs. Pitts in the flat next to us. This is when we live in eighty-seven. The only times he sees her is to move her from our doorway where she sometimes lay full of hard drink. My Joby puts her in her flat. He tells me ‘she is on the dark road.’”

“On the dark road?” Berdie mined and listened intently.

“Something dark troubled her. ‘Earth now cares for my little evergreen.’ She would cry and scream it over and over. ‘My sweet evergreen, they will do best for my little evergreen.’”

“What evergreen?” Lillie queried. “Certainly not a tree?”

Coral quieted her voice and leaned closer to Lillie. “My husband asks her this one time when she has a clear eye. ‘I don’t know the person.’ That’s what she says.”

“Person,” Berdie breathed.

“Do not go by that woman, Joby warned.” Coral shivered. “Then one day, she tells my husband she’s going to be rich, and she will leave this horrible place to live in her own house with a fancy car and good riddance to him and everyone. Ten days later she is dead.”

“And did Joby tell this to the police?” Berdie asked.

“Oh no, Joby doesn’t like police. He doesn’t tell police anything. Only he smells a bad odor from her flat and calls them. Joby tells them nothing. After that we move.”

Ezra squirmed in Coral’s arms and reached his arms downward. Coral started moving towards the flat once again. “I must go.”

Berdie and Lillie stayed in step with her, carrying the bags.

“Yes, of course.” Berdie toted the bag and sat it at the door’s edge when they reached the flat. “You’ve been most helpful, Coral.”

The woman nodded.

“That dark road your husband spoke of, well what you’ve told us today will bring light to that road, the light of truth that will chase the dark away.”

“I am glad.” Coral smiled.

“God go with you,” Berdie blessed. And Coral, Ezra, and Jo Jo entered the flat.

Lillie shook her head. “The seas have parted.”

Berdie grinned. “Oh yes, didn’t they though. We’re on to something, Lillie. We were meant to get that information. Oh, yes, we’re on to something big.”

And with that, the women began their trek back to the Underground station and a train ride home to solve a mystery.

9

Berdie stared hard at the floral arrangement she was creating, or rather attempting to create.

She pushed the long sleeves of her new knit jumper up her arms. She purchased it just this morning during a busy day of helping with St. Mark’s jumble sale in Timsley. The jumper was a warm fashionable peachy color, and it suited her.

She hadn’t any space today to muse on yesterday’s London outing and all the information it brought to light. And now she was stuck in on this job that took every ounce of her concentration. She stabbed another hydrangea in the vase.

Hugh had laid out all the necessary gear, including the fresh cut flowers, on a table just outside the sacristy. With some detail he gave Berdie the report that Mrs. Potter, the usual designer, had unexpectedly left town to live with her niece in Lewes due to poor health, and could Berdie please do the floral arrangements for tomorrow’s Sunday service.

While Mr. Castle rehearsed “Lift Up Your Hearts” on the organ, Berdie tipped her head to observe the vase as if that may make the arrangement somehow look better. It didn’t. She pulled the just placed floral out of the vase and sighed.

The sound of the opened church door, along with the unmistakable stride of Lillie Foxworth clattering on the stone floor, incited a sense of relief in Berdie.

“Coo-ee,” Lillie called out as she crossed the nave to Berdie.

“Oh, Lillie, you do have a creative touch. What an absolute godsend that you’ve arrived just at this moment.” Berdie beamed.

Lillie eyed the floral arrangement with a tip of her head. “Isn’t it just,” Lillie confirmed, and handed a copy of the Kirkwood Times to Berdie who grabbed it gladly. “Have you seen this?”

Berdie read it. Special Edition was in bold letters across the top and the headline read ‘Do You Know This Face?’ Just below it, taking up almost the entire page, was the drawing of a young child’s face and the caption, ‘Forensic Anthropologist Creates Likeness of Church Garden Child.’

“Church garden child.” Berdie shook her head. “Poor Hugh.”

“And, apart from the hope that Dr. Roz Chase has completed her work and will soon move on, look at this.” Lillie pointed to the chin of the drawn face. “This child has their parent’s chin I’d say, clearly.”

Berdie pulled down her glasses and studied the picture.

“Look,” Lillie said pointedly and covered the upper part of the head with her hand leaving just the chin revealed.

“Oh I see, well spotted.”

Lillie removed her hand. “Who’s a clever girl then?” She had a note of pompous pleasure in the fact that she had detected an apparent clue.

Two more sets of steps clip-clopped on the stone floor. Berdie observed the indomitable Bridget McDermott and tender Maggie Fairchild. The two shared the chairmanship of the church garden committee. Each gripped newspapers in their hands and wore less-than-happy visages as they made way towards Berdie and Lillie.

“Mrs. Elliott,” Bridget’s ample voice echoed across the hallowed stone walls. “Have you seen the special edition this afternoon?”

Berdie held the paper up to signal an affirmative.

“They’re calling him the church garden child,” Maggie Fairchild stated in a hurt voice.

“But that’s not the worse part.” Bridget was now almost in a full gallop. “There’s more.”

The women now stood, like fortified pillars, at Berdie’s side.

Bridget held the paper so the illuminating front page could be easily seen by Berdie. “Look at the child’s nose. Inherited from mother no doubt. Now, look at it.” The woman put her index finger on a nostril. “Whose is it?”

“Shameful,” Maggie added, “one of our own.”

Berdie studied the nose and shook her head. She saw nothing truly familiar there.

Bridget leaned forward and lowered her voice. “If that isn’t the nose of that slightly unhinged Mary Gordon.”

“Mary Gordon?” Berdie looked closely.

Suddenly the organ music stopped. Mr. Castle’s voice sounded from behind the great organ pipes that nearly dwarfed him. “Look at the forehead,” he said with a certain command. “I’m not naming names mind you. But do look at the forehead.”

Berdie put on her vicar’s wife voice. “Let’s not be hasty.”

“What?” Mr. Castle called.

They had long marveled at the uncanny way he could hear conversations while playing the organ but had difficulty making out words when it was silent.

“I said, let’s all of us calm down and not be hasty,” Berdie yelled back.

Like a hare springing from its burrow, Hugh appeared from the sacristy. “What’s this that needs calming?”

Berdie held up the newspaper.

“Oh yes, that,” he said with a less-than-pleased tone.

Mr. Castle again commenced his organ practice.

Bridget McDermott shook her newspaper, her voice commanding. “Reverend Elliott, you must get right down to that silly newspaper and let young Mr. Exton know that this just won’t do. Church garden child, really.”

“I understand your sentiments, Mrs. McDermott,” Hugh acknowledged. “But, I should think that the editor is only using a term the police have created to identify the case. That being said, I’m afraid negotiating with newspaper editors is more my wife’s expertise.”

Berdie gave Hugh the eye message, a slight, well-focused squint, which said “thanks for dropping me right in it.”

“I’ll speak to Mr. Exton, but as Hugh said…” Berdie shook her head as a means to finish her sentence.

Mrs. McDermott held the paper up, just as she had for Berdie, so Hugh could see it clearly. “Now, tell me vicar, whose child is this? Look at the unmistakable nose. Someone has not been forthcoming. You know that nose I’m sure.”

“My dear Mrs. McDermott,” Hugh’s voice was without waver, “speculation without proper knowledge, such as the police would garner, is a dangerous business. Nose aside, we wouldn’t want to make false accusation and hurt someone’s standing, would we.”

“Indeed,” Lillie added with a quick glance Berdie’s way.

Berdie wanted to make sure Bridget was keenly clear on what Hugh was saying. “And when those who are investigating the case identify the child and his parents, you can be glad in the knowledge that you were quietly correct, or grateful that you didn’t publicly make a fool of yourself.”

Hugh cleared his throat and gave Berdie a wee nudge on her back.

Bridget pulled the paper down and folded it. “Well, be that as it may, we all have eyes.”

“For which we’re grateful,” Hugh agreed. “And by God’s grace, a genuine sense of discretion.” He raised his eyebrow and turned to Maggie. “Do you agree, Mrs. Fairchild?”

“Well, yes, Reverend Elliott.” Maggie Fairchild responded with a certain sense of understanding.

“And wouldn’t you agree?” Berdie targeted the intrepid Bridget McDermott.

Berdie felt Hugh’s finger nearly bore a hole on her back.

Mrs. McDermott pulled the folded paper close to the bodice of her dark blue dress and straightened her back. “Well, I suppose,” she uttered with a certain reticence and a half scowl.

“Good.” Hugh nodded. “Now, is there anything else I can do for you?”

“Thank you, Reverend. I believe you’ve addressed what we came here for.” Maggie Fairchild smiled, took Bridget’s elbow, and the women exited quickly.

“Well said, Vicar,” Mr. Castle called from behind the organ, playing the hymn’s fourth stanza.

“Thank you,” Hugh acknowledged loudly then directed his whisper voice to Berdie. “I appreciate your support, love, but a woman like Bridget McDermott can be inflamed by your verbal delivery.”

Lillie smiled.

“Well, Hugh, with a woman like Bridget McDermott, any conversation that isn’t frank and full on won’t be heard.” Berdie widened her eyes so that her eyebrows lifted above her tortoiseshell glasses. Her verbal delivery now became buttery. “Besides, if anyone in this congregation should order you about”—she lifted her chin and grinned—“it should be me.”

“Oh, yes?” Hugh chuckled.

“Speaking of order.” Lillie cast her eye toward the disarray of what was supposed to be a vase of arranged flowers.

“Oh.” Hugh’s tone had a note of dismay as he observed.

Berdie pursed her lips.

“I thought you enjoyed organizing flowers, love.”

Berdie straightened. “It ranks right up there with a hot stick in the eye. Well, I mean, to assemble a posy for the breakfast table is fine, but a multi-flower formal church arrangement. I should ask Lillie to do it if I were you.”

Lillie was quick to respond. “You know who’s jolly good with florals?”

“Cara Donovan,” Berdie answered.

“Who is home attending poor Katy who has a tummy ache,” Hugh inserted.

“Rosalie Darbyshire,” Lillie finished.

“Is she?” Hugh was keen.

“She only attended the Judith Blacklock Flower School.”

“I’ll fetch her.” Berdie offered without hesitation. “She’s one to give it a go on a moment’s notice.”

Hugh ogled the vase. “Ring her up.”

Berdie was on her mobile as she walked through the church door, beckoning Lillie to come as well.

Rosalie not only assured Berdie that she would be happy to do the flower arrangement but she could also do it straight way if she could get a ride. Berdie was more than happy to oblige.

“Any headway on the Pitts investigation?” Lillie asked once the car was on the way to Bampkingswith Hall.

“Ruminations, no headway really.”

“Have you heard about poor Patricia King?”

“My, Lillie, aren’t you the hotbed of information today. Have you been to the Copper Kettle?”

“Actually, I saw Mr. Raheem this morning, and he had just spoken with Patricia’s sister,” Lillie rattled on without taking a breath. “Patricia feels so badly about all that’s happened she’s considering leaving the mail service.”

“Truly?”

“Very distressed that she didn’t take better note of the parcel she delivered that held that dreadful spider.”

“She’s so terribly efficient; I can imagine it should be difficult for her. I would hate to see her quit.”

“Yes.”

“Not one to linger, but she delivers the mail jolly well on time.”

Lillie glanced out the car window then returned her gaze to Berdie. “Why is it we’re fetching Rosalie? She has her own car.”

“Colonel Preswood has taken it to the garage for fresh lubrication. But this is perfect. I needed an excuse to go back inside Swithy for a bit of a look-see.”

“To see what?” Lillie twinkled, “Something’s waiting for discovery, isn’t it?”

“Not so much discovery as scrutiny.”

Lillie grinned and tapped the paper she still carried. “Chin-wag is it?”

“Among others,” Berdie confided and picked up speed.

The gentleman in black answered the door at Swithy Hall and directed Berdie to gather Miss Darbyshire, who was expecting her, from the upstairs bedroom where she readied herself.

“Second door left,” he directed. “I apologize for being so informal and not bringing Miss Darbyshire down.” He balanced a tray in one hand and held fairy liquid in the other. “The house cleaner has been out ill most the week, and I’m meeting myself coming back from the going.”