Trick or Murder?: A Sophie Sayers Village Mystery (Sophie Sayers Village Mysteries Book 2)

by Debbie Young

  “It seems his intention was to place the blame on someone else – on whoever he could get to light the bonfire. Thank goodness you spotted him, Sophie, or Neep might have got away with it. Thanks to you, DC Yardley is not dead, but he is hypothermic. That’s not surprising considering he’s been lying outside in a thin damp suit for a day or two, but I don’t think any lasting damage has been done.”

  “So that’s where Mrs Mason’s nerve pills disappeared to,” Carol said crossly. “I knew I’d given them to her. I thought she’d just lost them at home, but now I think of it, the vicar was in the shop at the same time as her. He must have swiped them out of her shopping basket while she wasn’t looking. And him a man of the cloth too!”

  “But that was on Monday, days before Mr Yardley showed up,” I said. “Crikey, I wonder who else he had murderous designs on.”

  The doctor tutted. “Dear me, I wish people would take better care of their prescription medicines. This poor young man will feel he’s got the mother of all hangovers when he wakes up, but our first priority is to warm him up slowly, while we get him to hospital for proper checks and observation.” He pinched the flesh on the back of the detective’s hand, and it stood up in wrinkles, despite his young age. “They’ll need to get a drip into him for rehydration too.”

  Someone handed Carol an eiderdown from one of the vicarage guest rooms, and she tucked it carefully around the detective’s body. The tender gesture reminded me of the many years she had spent caring for her stricken mother. She had such a good heart, I was so sorry her hopes for romance with the vicar had been dashed. But Carol was never daunted for long.

  “He looks a nice man,” she said thoughtfully, stroking the detective’s hair.

  “Anyone check his pockets for personal possessions other than his police ID?” asked the doctor. Carol didn’t need to be asked twice. She delved beneath the eiderdown for a little longer than strictly necessary before withdrawing from his trouser pocket a wallet and a mobile phone.

  The doctor took the phone. “Dinah, can you please put that on charge? Once it’s powered back up we’ll find his home contact number. Someone somewhere is probably very worried about him not having been home for a couple of days. I see he’s wearing a wedding ring.”

  Carol’s face fell, then she remembered Neep. “But hang on, where is Mr Neep now? I hope he’s all right.”

  Billy shook his fist at her. “Don’t you go sparing no sympathy on that scoundrel. He damn near set me up to be a murderer. Supposing that fire had caught light? It would have been me who done the awful deed, in front of the whole village, setting fire to that young man you’re cuddling there. And who would take my word over the vicar’s?”

  “I would.”

  “And me.”

  “Me too.”

  The crowd’s unanimous agreement seemed to touch Billy. “Well, I thank you for that, you’re all very kind. Now, where’s that vicar got to? Let’s lynch the bugger.”

  He seized a garden rake from the nearest flowerbed and stumbled off down the lawn towards the vegetable garden beyond, reminding me of Mr MacGregor chasing Peter Rabbit.

  Stanley hurried after him. “Now, now, Billy, don’t do anything rash.”

  “Who’s got a rash?” Tommy entered the garden at the side gate, his jaunty tread indicating he was undaunted by his latest exploits. He saw Stanley leading Billy back to the patio by the sleeve as if restraining a naughty schoolboy.

  “What you done now, Billy?” Tommy recognised a kindred spirit when he saw one.

  Billy shook himself free of Stanley as Bob returned from the far end of the garden.

  “Where’s that bloody vicar?” asked Billy. “I wants a piece of him.”

  “So do I, Bill, but I can’t find him anywhere,” said Bob. “That black cloak of his is certainly a good disguise on a dark night like this. I hope my reinforcements will be here soon, before he can get too far.”

  Tommy was quick to reassure Bob. “Don’t worry, he won’t have got very far at all. I let his car tyres down again while the little kids were playing with their sparklers.”

  “Well done, sonny.”

  I hoped Tommy wouldn’t take Bob’s approval as licence to vandalise any other vehicles in the village.

  “Last time I saw him, he was running up the path into the church, then he went inside and slammed the door behind him. He’d gone round the back way, cutting through the gate at the bottom of the vegetable patch, so he didn’t notice me at the other end of the path, where I was trying to set fire to the lychgate.”

  “What?” Relieved as he was, Bob couldn’t let that one go. “Whatever possessed you to do that, Tommy? Don’t tell me I’ve got to call the fire brigade too?”

  Tommy dismissed the offer with a casual wave of his hand. “I just thought it might be useful for the vicar to know how easy it was to set light to it. So as to guard against accidents. You know, for that health and safety you’re all so keen on. But don’t worry, it’s practically impossible. I got bored trying and came back here to get something to eat. I’m starving.” He stared longingly in the direction of the dining room.

  Bob put his hands on his hips. “Ha! I’ve got bigger fish to fry tonight than you, my lad. Off you go.”

  “That’s all right, Bob, I don’t like fish anyway. Yuck.”

  Tommy ran off happily to join the villagers now tucking into the buffet inside the vicarage, leaving Bob looking anxiously towards the church.

  “We’ll go with you if you like,” said Stanley, speaking on behalf of the small crowd of his cronies that had gathered round him with drinks and plates of snacks. “You don’t want to go on your own.”

  “No, I shouldn’t encourage civilians to get involved, in case he is armed.”

  Billy looked scornful. “What, you think he might come at us with a Roman candle?”

  Bob considered. “You can’t come inside, but you can stand guard outside the church door till reinforcements arrive, if you like. And I don’t suppose there’s any harm if anyone wants to watch the proceedings from the churchyard. Just don’t make any loud noises to alert Neep to our presence.”

  The men could not contain their roar of enthusiasm as they set off down the path after Bob, still carrying their drinks. Bob shouted back over his shoulder to us.

  “And don’t start the fireworks till we’ve nabbed him.”

  “I thought they were meant to be keeping the noise down?” I said to Hector in a low voice. “I can’t believe we’re still going ahead with the fireworks.”

  Dinah’s girlfriend shrugged. “It seems a shame to waste them, when they’re all set up ready to light behind the bonfire.”

  Carol looked up from her patient’s side. “And it seems a shame to waste a good opportunity for a party. Especially when we’ve all brought so much food and drink.”

  “There’s tons to eat in there,” said Tommy, returning with a cold chicken leg in each hand. “And it’s funny, but my mum says she keeps drinking the punch but it never seems to get any less. She’d like a bottle of wine like that for home. Has the vicar done something magic to it? I hope he’s done the same thing to the food.”

  “You’re thinking of miracles, Tommy, and no, vicars can’t do miracles,” said Carol. “We really need to get Sunday School up and running again once we get our new vicar.”

  Hector coughed. “I saw Trevor top the punch up earlier with a drop of brandy, and Bob stuck in a bottle of his crab apple wine.”

  “Then there’s my bottle of Malibu,” said Carol. “And some foreign green liqueur that May Sayers brought my dad years ago.” She turned to address me. “I’m sorry, Sophie, but it had been there a long time, and I was never going to drink it, so I thought I might as well share it with the village.”

  I produced the little flask from my coat pocket. “But don’t worry if the punch starts to run low. I’ve got some sloe gin.”

  Everyone laughed, and somebody hiccupped. I don’t think it was me.

  “So I think y
ou have your answer, Tommy,” said Hector. “The magic lies not in the hands of the so-called vicar, but in the rest of the village community. When we all pull together, there’s nothing we can’t do.” Just then, through the gaps in the holly hedge, blue flashing lights appeared beside Hector’s Land Rover. “But if any of you came here by car tonight, for goodness’ sake, make sure you walk home or you’ll be done for drunken driving.”

  Then he grabbed my hand. “Come on, Sophie, let’s go and see the vicar get his comeuppance, though I suppose we should stop calling him that now.”

  We crept quietly out of the garden and headed next door to the lychgate, arriving just as Bob’s reinforcements were running up the path to the church. As they opened the porch door, we heard a cry of “Sanctuary!” from within.

  Hector spoke derisively. “That might have worked for Quasimodo, but Vance is about five hundred years too late.”

  The door slammed behind the police, leaving an ominous silence. “Do you think he’s armed?” I whispered to Hector, bracing myself for the sound of gunshots, or at least the sound of bangers. Hector rubbed my back soothingly.

  “I don’t think that’s his style somehow. I’m sure they’ll all come out in one piece. Don’t worry, sweetheart.”

  Whatever happened next, I knew I’d cope better with it as Hector’s sweetheart.

  39 Flash Mob

  We’d been crouching by the lychgate for about five minutes when Bob led out Mr Neep – or rather Septimus Vance – in handcuffs. Bent over, humiliated, he looked at least ten years older than when he’d fled from his garden. I wondered what the police were charging him with: threatening behaviour at the PTA Halloween Disco; damage to the disco equipment; the theft of Mrs Mason’s prescription drugs; sedating and holding captive a detective; attempting to induce a member of the public to murder the sedated detective. The prosecution would be spoiled for choice.

  But what I found the most unnerving was that he had somehow got the whole village to do his bidding. What else might he have had planned for us? Even so, I’d never felt safer than here, now, in the company of an unrepentant criminal. In a big city, he might have stood more of a chance of success, but not in Wendlebury Barrow.

  Vance stopped walking as he reached the lychgate, forcing Bob to grind to a halt too. Emitting a surly growl, he slowly surveyed our faces as if memorising them for future reference and revenge. Hector tightened his arm reassuringly around me, but Billy was less easily cowed than I was. Standing up to his full height, he fished out of his trouser pocket a battered packet of cigarettes, put one in his mouth, and tauntingly raised a lit match to it.

  Vance watched him, transfixed by the flame like a caveman desperate for the gift of fire. Billy took a long draught, puffed the smoke out of his mouth with a satisfied smirk, and stepped closer to the vicar.

  “Now I’m going back to enjoy a bloody good piss-up at your house,” he said with relish. “And I might even sleep in your bed.”

  Vance gave a shudder of rage, and Bob yanked on his handcuffs to start him walking again, accompanied by the rest of his boys in blue. “We’ll be back to take your statements in the morning,” Bob called over his shoulder. “Don’t wait up. Just enjoy a good party. Because the party’s all yours now, my friends!”

  Once the police cars had driven off to Slate Green Police Station, we headed back to the vicarage. Hector and I entered the garden by the back gate just in time to see Billy chuck his glowing cigarette end behind the bonfire, where it landed on what turned out to be Neep’s stash of fireworks. At the first explosion, people rushed out of the house, food and drink still in hand, and before long we were all gathered on the patio, oohing and aahing at the pyrotechnics. I mean fireworks. Blast that vicar and his pompous way with words.

  “What about the bonfire?” asked Tommy when the last sparks had died down. “Should we stick all the guys back on it and set light to it now?” He pulled a box of matches out of his pocket. The rest of us exchanged nervous glances.

  Then Trevor had a bright idea. “I know. Let’s just use them as scarecrows instead. It seems a shame to burn them after everyone’s gone to so much trouble.”

  Tommy turned appealing eyes on me, and he sounded shy for once. “Do you think I’d be allowed to put Mr Hampton’s guy in my garden, or do you think he’ll want it back?” I thought of Joshua and his father, effectively a human scarecrow at Tommy’s age. Then I looked at Tommy, missing a father figure for most of his short life.

  “I’m sure Mr Hampton will be delighted to know he’s going to such a good home. Much better than turning him into a pile of ash.”

  Tommy looked the happiest I’d ever seen him. “Thanks, miss, I knew you were a good sort. Have you ever considered becoming a teacher?”

  I tried not to smile. “Funnily enough, Tommy, the idea had crossed my mind.”

  At the sound of pop music blaring out of the kitchen, where the teenagers had started dancing, Tommy ran off inside in search of whatever mischief might be to hand.

  Meanwhile, Detective Constable Yardley had regained consciousness and had been raised into a sitting position on a garden bench on the patio, the eiderdown spread over his lap. Carol, still holding his hands, was chatting companionably to him in a low voice. More blue lights flashed in the High Street, signalling the arrival of the ambulance.

  Carol watched as the paramedics carried the detective off to the ambulance on a gurney, then, with a heartfelt sigh, she went inside to join the others.

  Hector and I were following her across the patio when we were accosted by a middle-aged lady I’d never met before. She seemed to know Hector, though, as she reached up to kiss him on both cheeks with the manner of a fond aunt. He let go of my hand to give her a hug.

  “Hello, Kate. Welcome home. Are you still on Australian time?”

  I realised she must be his godmother, back from her long holiday.

  She let out a sigh. “I think so. We got back in the early hours of this morning while the rest of the village was asleep, and I’ve been catnapping all day. I don’t know which way is up yet, which seems appropriate enough considering where I’ve just come from. Then the banging and crashing up here woke me, so I thought I’d better get out of holiday mode, put my Parochial Church Council hat on, and come and investigate. I feared squatters had invaded the vicarage while it was empty.”

  “No, only the new vicar.”

  “Mr Neep? It can’t be. He’s still in hospital in Southampton.”

  “Well, that was quick. They’ve only just taken him away in a police car.”

  “No, really, Mr Neep is in hospital in intensive care and has been for weeks. He was beaten up and left for dead by an intruder. The attacker stole his wallet, his passport, and all the other personal paperwork that he could find, in what looks like a planned identity theft.”

  “But we’ve had the new vicar, Mr Neep, here for the last three weeks. Only it turns out his real name is Septimus Vance.”

  Kate’s eyes widened. “Septimus Vance? But that was the name of the man suspected of being Mr Neep’s assailant. I had an email from the diocese a couple of days before I left Australia to let me know about poor Mr Neep’s situation, and that his arrival would be delayed while he recovered. They asked me to keep it a secret while they investigated. They even managed to keep the story of Neep’s attack out of the papers, to try to fool his attacker into thinking he’d escape undetected.”

  “But why didn’t they tell you sooner?” I asked. “Septimus Vance has been here for weeks.”

  “No-one realised anything was amiss until a few days ago,” said Kate. “Having finished at his previous parish at the end of October, Mr Neep was spending November on retreat in a little cottage he owns on the Isle of Wight. That’s where the attacker struck, hitting his head with a blunt instrument, throwing him down the stairs and locking the door.”

  “That’s more of a retreat than he bargained for,” said Hector.

  “When he came round, he survived on his cell
ar’s store of home-made beer and jam.” Kate grimaced at the thought. “Luckily, the local postman noticed Mr Neep’s mail piling up, while his car hadn’t moved from the drive, and he called the police. Thanks to that postie’s vigilance, Mr Neep lived to tell the tale, but it may take him a while to recover.”

  “Poor Mr Neep,” said Hector.

  I smiled. “Now there’s a phrase I never thought I’d hear you say.”

  Kate turned to me for the first time. “I’m sorry, where are my manners? Who are you, dear? Someone else I don’t know.”

  Hector put his arm protectively about my shoulders. “This is Sophie Sayers, Kate. May Sayers’s great-niece. She moved into May’s old cottage while you were down under, and now she works for me – with me – in the bookshop.”

  Although he’d slightly redeemed himself with that ‘colleague not employee’ correction, I still felt disappointed that his first impulse hadn’t been to introduce me as his girlfriend.

  “Sophie, this is Katherine Blake, chair of the PCC. She’s also my godmother, Kate. You know, the one I told you about who helped me refit the shop? She’s been in Australia for the last six months, visiting family.”

  Kate shivered and pulled her coat around her. “It looks like I picked the wrong six months to go to Australia. I’m getting two winters in a row instead of two summers.”

  Hector took her arm. “Come indoors and warm up with some punch, and we’ll tell you all about the excitement that you’ve missed.”

  With glasses charged from the punchbowl, the three of us retreated to the vicar’s study. The floor was covered in coats – it looked like the guys’ dressing room – but the room was free of people. We added our coats to the pile and closed the door for peace and privacy. Katherine seated herself at the vicar’s writing desk, while Hector and I settled down on the small sofa. She riffled through the pile of papers on the desktop, which included a few spare invitations to the fireworks party, discarded because the vicar had made a spelling mistake or a crossing out part way through.