Up from the Grave (20 page)

“I was so blind, Lillie, you were right about Roz. Please believe me, I would never hurt you.”

Lillie nodded.

Loren drew Lillie into a gentle embrace. She placed her arms around his lean waist and laid her head on Loren’s broad shoulder.

“I never knew I could miss someone as much as I’ve missed you.” Loren was just barely audible. He put his finger under Lillie’s chin and tipped it towards him. He bent forward to touch his lips to hers.

Plunk
. The door quietly closed, Hugh’s broad hand upon it.

Berdie pulled back. “Hugh,” she scolded.

“Hardly a row, is it love? And none of our business at that.”

“Oh yes?” Berdie turned to face her stalwart husband. “And who was it that said, ‘what’s going on’?’”

“What’s going on?”

“Yes, when I was looking, and you asked what’s going on?’”

Hugh straightened. “That was when there was a question of a possible row.”

“It was to satisfy your curiosity.”

“Concern, Berdie, not curiosity.” Hugh used his military voice.

A light rapping sound came at the door then quickly opened.

Lillie stood at the entrance, Loren next to her. Both wore quiet smiles. Lillie leaned close to Berdie. “You can open the door again.”

Berdie felt slightly silly, and Hugh positively squirmed.

“We’re going for a walk.” Loren gently grasped Lillie’s elbow.

“Oh, that’s well and good.” Berdie smiled and Hugh nodded. “Yes, well.” Berdie pointed to the computer. “I’ll get on with my work.”

“And by the way,” Loren added, “you can turn the light back on as well.”

Berdie felt the heat rise on her face. “What a fine suggestion.”

“We’ll be back by Evensong,” Lillie chirped.

“We’ll see you then.” Hugh turned the lamp back to a lighted state.

“Mind how you go.” Berdie obliged but didn’t shut the door.

The couple left, hand in hand.

“They’ve more discussion ahead of them, but on the whole, that seems to have worked itself out then.” Hugh was now bright.

“Yes.” Berdie, too, brightened. “It’s always encouraging when love gone wrong gets set right.”

She sat herself before the computer. “And, I can only hope that the unraveling of current crimes should go as smoothly. The mystery man of Pork and Barrel awaits at dawn.”

“Mind how you go,” Hugh cautioned and gave her a sweet peck on the cheek.

11

Berdie turned on the left turn indicator of the car, the blinking brightness sending patches of light across the Timsley predawn darkness.

“I can’t believe you dragged me out at this hour,” Lillie grumbled. “Loren didn’t get me home ’til quite late.” Lillie wore a dreamy expression. “A lovely dinner in Timsley.” She paused. “A late lovely dinner. And here I am, back again.” She tipped the beaker of hot tea to her lips. The coolness of the morning played with the steam that curled off the receptacle.

Berdie could almost sniff the approximation of bacon in the pan as they neared the Pork and Barrel, even though the place didn’t open until ten AM.

“I’m glad you and Loren are getting on again. And good news on my front, Lillie. I think I have worked out who Mr. Cloak-and-Dagger may be.”

“Oh yes?” Lillie yawned.

“Do you remember what Hugh said to me yesterday when we were talking about the mystery man?”

“What, all of it?”

Berdie deepened her voice. “Be careful, love.”

“He would say.” Lillie rubbed a tired eye.

“Actually, it’s what he didn’t say.”

Berdie was confident as she approached the entry of the Pork and Barrel car park.

Lillie took another large gulp from the beaker around which her hands warmed. “So am I considering what he said or what he didn’t say?”

Berdie set her jaw and went on without as much as a twitter in answer to Lillie. “I need to go with you, Berdie. That’s what he usually says if he thinks I’m risking danger. Or he raises any number of things in a kind of protest.”

Lillie blinked. “Yes.”

Berdie steered the car into the car park. “But he didn’t say any of those things and you know what that means?”

Lillie furrowed her brow. “I love being your Watson, Berdie, but I don’t fancy it at five thirty in the morning.”

“It’s nearly six.” Berdie nodded toward the car’s clock.

She directed the vehicle to the back area behind the building. A couple skips of rubbish made their odiferous presence known. Berdie brought the car to an abrupt halt.

“Be quiet and stay low in the seat, Lillie,” Berdie commanded. “He may do a runner if aware of another person about.” She turned the engine off and opened her car door.

“What if there’s mischief?” Lillie queried in a hoarse whisper.

“Not this time.” Berdie answered with a very solid confidence.

Her feet no sooner hit the ground and one quick flash of car lights hailed from a dark nook in between two out buildings. Berdie straightened and took self-assured steps towards the dark space.

As she approached, she could just make out a black late model Mercedes. Immediately, she smiled. Her hunch as to who the informant may be was indeed correct. It all came together.

“It’s OK. There are no malicious sorts about,” Berdie announced. “Show yourself.”

In a long black coat, a neck scarf wrapped round his chin and a black hat pulled low, Preston Graystone emerged from his vehicle.

The corners of Berdie’s mouth turned slightly upward at seeing the village solicitor now in the roll of a stealth informant.

“How very cavalier of you.” Graystone spit out the words.

“Yes, good morning Mr. Graystone,” Berdie greeted with no care to volume.

“Shh.” The man looked to the left and right. “You needn’t address me.”

He came closer to Berdie where she was able to make out a nervous gravity written in his eyes.

“I’m doing this by the urging of your husband and to protect my legal station.”

“Indeed. But if you don’t mind me asking, why tell me and not the proper law?”

“Because Albert Goodnight has about as much discretion as flies on pigs.” Preston Graystone flared. “Your husband assured me most ardently that you would keep a confidence.”

“I would indeed.”

“Strictest of confidence, mind you.” Graystone shook a skinny finger towards Berdie. “Any of this gets out, and I’ll deny it.”

“Of course you will.”

The man glanced side to side once more. “There was this man you see.” Graystone’s voice had a distinct edge. “Bumped into him by accident in the woods near the Preswood estate, some distance from the families’ summer house”—he cleared his throat—“and near the church wood. It was about the time they think that child was allegedly disposed of those many years ago.”

“Twenty years ago. You still have a memory of it?”

“It was the tragic night my wife first went into hospital in London.”

“You were here and your wife in London,” Berdie reiterated with a questioning tone.

“Isn’t that what I just said?” Graystone gathered his brow and spoke impatiently. “I’ll not soon forget that night. It was the beginning of her ordeal to which she eventually succumbed.”

“You remember the evening, obviously,” Berdie said tenderly, and moved on in her investigative posture. “Are you saying you may know who the perpetrator of the crime is?”

“I am not,” Graystone nearly shouted and threw his hand into the air. “Blimey woman, let me speak without interruption.” Graystone stuck his angular chin out. “I’m giving you three minutes and no questions.”

Berdie raised a reassuring palm towards Graystone and used a soft voice hoping to calm the fellow. “Go on then.” She realized she’d have to phrase her questions in an affirmative manner.

“Couldn’t make out the man’s face very well, but he wore a woodsman’s hat, much like the kind Wilkie Gordon wears. And he had a spade in tow. It smelled of fresh earth.”

Berdie spoke cautiously. “His face was camouflaged then.”

“No, no,” Graystone protested. “Not camouflaged, it was dark, desperately dark, as it would be at three AM.”

“In the wood, not far from the Preswood summer house, at three in the morning. That’s slightly odd.”

“Now see here.” The solicitor narrowed his eyes. “Odd does not enter into it. I will not give details.” He swallowed. “I assure you there were no indiscretions and under no circumstances will I divulge or cast dispersions on the good character…” Graystone dropped his head in silence.

“Flora Preswood,” Berdie finished.

The man straightened. He raised his eyes only quickly to Berdie and resumed looking at the ground. “Of course not,” came quietly from his mouth without any real conviction. It was all Berdie really needed to be aware of.

“No, Mr. Graystone, no indiscretions.” Berdie was suddenly appreciative of Hugh as parish confessor. “No real description of the fellow then.”

“Average height, seemed cautious, furtive, unknown, and yet somehow familiar.”

A work lorry pulled close to the front of the Pork and Barrel. Graystone ducked back against his car.

“No indiscretions mind you. I’ve never had this conversation with you,” he clipped, fervor returning to his voice.

Berdie sealed the clandestine dialogue with a question. “What conversation?” She smiled. “And thank you, Preston.”

Like a rabbit to its burrow, Preston Graystone hid away in his car, motioning Berdie to leave the area.

Obliging the anxious solicitor, Berdie returned to her car where Lillie had, indeed, stayed low. So low, as a matter of fact, Berdie had to nudge her awake in order to seat herself properly in the driver’s seat.

By the time Berdie eased the car onto the road, Lillie was upright and just cognizant.

“You’re all right, then?” Lillie blinked.

“And what would you’ve done if I wasn’t? Snored loud enough to alert the police?”

“You weren’t out all hours last night.” Lillie stretched her arms above her head. “Anyway, who was it?”

“Not to tell, dear girl.”

“Berdie!” Lillie sounded somewhat put out. “Really, all this way at this time of day, or dark, or whatever it is, and you won’t tell me who it was?”

“Can’t really. No, matter of honor and you know how I am about that. But I can tell you this, Lillie dear. You snooze, you lose.”

“Thus endeth the lesson?” Lillie itched behind her ear and emitted a low giggle. “Yes, well, not exactly a feather bed, these seats.”

“I should say.” Both women laughed heartily.

“What say we breakfast at the Upland Arms?” Berdie still had the scent of rashers in her nose.

“Oh, yes, please. I believe I’m awake enough to jolly well do that.”

“I thought as much.” Berdie chuckled. And the return trip to Aidan Kirkwood was underway.

The Upland Arms’ wee car park was full when Berdie and Lillie arrived.

“Is it everyone’s day out?” Lillie glanced about at all the vehicles.

No sooner had the words left her mouth than Jamie Donovan exited the building, carrier bag in hand. His muscular build fitted the Butz and Sons Electric work uniform well. His gracious white smile contrasted with his black hair as he waved a greeting to Berdie and Lillie.

Berdie put down the car window and stuck her head out. “Well done I hear, Jamie. Brilliant was the word Hugh used to describe your football play.”

“It was a team effort,” he called back. “But thank you.” He pointed to his work lorry. “This space has your name on it, Mrs. Elliott.”

Berdie gave Jamie a thumbs up, and he moved to his vehicle.

She heard the approach of an engine, quickly realizing Mr. Raheem had just pulled in behind her in his green grocer delivery vehicle. She supposed he had a produce delivery for Dudley Horn. Mr. Raheem bounced from his auto and greeted Berdie at her window.

“Good Morning, Mrs. Elliott, Miss Foxworth. You’re about it early.” Mr. Raheem spoke in his slight Punjabi accent and wore his voluminous grin.

“Yes, we’ve joined the masses at the Upland Arms. And I should think you’re feeding them.”

“I bring the produce. Mr. Horn feeds them.” He wiped his hands on his white work pinny. “When Reverend Elliott began morning Lenten Matins at church, the business here, it booms.” He had a lilt in his voice. “All praises to God.”

Lillie leaned towards the window of conversation. “We saw you at Bampkingswith Hall the other day.”

“Oh yes, I have so many deliveries there.” Mr. Raheem announced it proudly.

“Really?” Berdie pried.

Mr. Raheem lifted his brows. “Of the fruit baskets, glazed clementines, even a fresh carafe of Sangria my wife prepares. And all gifts from the most generous visitor to our town.”

“A generous visitor. That would be Mrs. Hall’s aunt.” Berdie pried even further.

“Oh, I’m sure Mrs. Hall’s aunt may be generous. But no, Mr. John Smith is the generous person I speak of. A generous giver of gifts to the Preswood family.”

“Generous, indeed,” Berdie verbalized keeping her surprise disguised.

By that time, Jamie had pulled his vehicle out of the parking space and eased past Berdie’s vehicle, nodding to the empty spot.

“Nice to chat, Mrs. Elliott.” Mr. Raheem tipped his head to her.

“Thank you, Mr. Raheem. God go with you.” Berdie pulled the car into the now-empty space.

“Fancy that,” Lillie quipped. “John Smith sending gifts to the Preswoods.”

“Yes. Generous is not a word that springs to mind when thinking of the incalculable Mr. John Smith. What is he up to?”

“Oh my word.” Lillie gasped and pointed discreetly towards the door of the Upland Arms. “It’s him. It is. It’s him.”

The average height, average build, and salt and pepper hair of “the generous giver of gifts” seemed momentarily larger than life as he exited the establishment. The pensive glare from beneath his silver glasses brightened when he saw Mr. Raheem. They began what appeared to be a very cordial conversation.

“Out of the car Lillie, quickly. I want to speak to our Mr. Smith.”

“This could be worth the early rising.” Lillie slipped out.

Mr. Raheem entered the pub. Mr. Smith took steps across the car park.

“Mr. Smith,” Berdie called.