“What?” Elise strained forward. “Lemonade?”
Berdie leapt upon this display of curiosity to continue her inquiry, albeit in a slightly different direction.
“Something you said brought our Ascension Sunday celebration to mind.”
“Did it?”
“Linden told me you were unable to locate your mother there.”
Elise glanced at the ground and back at Berdie. “It was the crowd, you see.” Her tone went a bit limp.
“Yes, very crowded, indeed.” Berdie found her new lode to mine. “Most seemed to enjoy the event, apart from the lemonade, of course.”
“Oh, yes, as you said, lemonade.”
“At the treats table, you know.” Berdie carefully eyed Elise. “Some said it was far too sugary.”
“Did they?” She shifted her garden tool to her other hand. “Yes, come to think of it, I ‘spose it was.” She took a deep breath. “Now, as I said before, we’re finished here.”
“I appreciate your time, Mrs. Davies. And thank you for the sheet music.”
Elise eyed Berdie momentarily, and then nodded.
Berdie got into her vehicle.
Elise turned her back to the car and began whacking away at the helpless vegetation with great force.
Once on the open road, Berdie wished Lillie was beside her to help sort this matter. The whole inheritance issue seemed just the right combination for a multitude of iniquitous motives. Both Elise and her brother were financially needy. Why was Olivia apparently spending money so lavishly? What friend? And who was this advisor, Wenn-Patton, for whom Elise had such sharp words? Just what was the “mess” she mentioned? So many loose ends.
Berdie tapped her finger on the steering wheel. And why would Elise lie about the Ascension gathering? Did she even go? “Oh dear,” Berdie spoke aloud. “The more I converse with Elise Davies, the less I really know, except that she’s hiding something concerning our fete. Perhaps even more.”
****
Laying the table for tea wasn’t going as Berdie hoped.
Hugh, helping with the task, was pleasant.
The conversation between them, however, was becoming a bit strained.
“So you did hear about the hit and run in Timsley last night?” Berdie straightened the floral tablecloth that graced the small kitchen table.
“Edsel mentioned it this morning,” he clipped. “You put the sheet music in the church?”
“Yes.” She ran her hand over a wrinkle to even the cloth. “Did you know the hit and run victim lives in Aidan Kirkwood?”
Hugh looked from the plates he sat on the table. “I’d heard nothing of the sort.”
Berdie took silverware from a drawer. “Did you know the perpetrator was in a Rover?”
“Were they?”
“Yes, indeed.” Berdie placed the silverware properly by the plates. “Did the cat people mention anything other than cats when they spoke to you at church?”
“The Stanfords?” Hugh retrieved glasses from a cupboard.
“Someone wearing a distinctive tie may have been the last to see Mrs. Mikalos.” Berdie paused. “Have you noticed that all the people around them seem to be, I don’t know, well groomed or nice looking? But, of course, you wouldn’t have noticed all that with your new toy.” Berdie waggled a fork in her hand. “I mean the woman, the angry gentleman, even that fellow.” She placed the eating utensil on the table. “Elise Davies wouldn’t fit that profile. Does money draw handsome people?”
“What are you going on about?” Hugh looked up from his task.
“And the Mikalos cat has gone missing.” Berdie sighed. “Of course, Sir Percival has pleasant features, but would rather bump off Tiddles as soon as look at him.”
Hugh planted the glasses on the table. “Berdie, how did the Stanfords, and Mrs. Mikalos, and someone who wants to bump off someone…”
“An animal, not a someone.”
“Yes, well, how do they all end up in the same conversation?”
“Back to my original question,” Berdie calmly re-directed. “How did the Stanfords appear to you?”
Hugh’s left eyebrow raised and he slowly lifted his chin. “Oh, I see now. It’s the car.”
Berdie ran a finger across the top of her plate.
“It was a Land Rover in front of their house, and it was a Land Rover involved in that accident.”
“Hardly an accident.”
Hugh crossed his arms. “In all of Timsley, there must be dozens and dozens of Land Rovers driven by dozens and dozens of different drivers.”
“I shouldn’t say dozens and dozens.”
“Anyway, how would that suggest anything at all to do with the Mikalos affair? I appreciate your talents, Berdie, but what a fetid invention.”
Berdie felt heat rise. “Fetid invention?”
Hugh held up his palms. “Wrong choice of words. It’s a stretch. That’s all I’m saying. That there’s any connection in the slightest, well, it’s no more than stretching facts like a rubber band.” He had a point. “Besides, the Stanfords seemed nice enough. Perhaps a bit eccentric, a bit stuffy in their old school way, but certainly not venomous.”
“Yes, well, sometimes that sort can be the most dangerous. Still, I suppose it’s more questions than answers, really.” Berdie’s stomach now competed for her attention. “Anyway, the ragout is ready and tea is on.”
With those words, Hugh’s smile returned and all eyebrows were in their appropriate place. “By the way,” he pronounced, “I’m taking the garden committee into Timsley tomorrow morning, and I’d like you to come, as well.”
“Oh, Hugh, must I?”
“Apparently there’s an urgent need to ferret out a suitable cake for the garden wedding. I’m going, but you’re much better at that kind of thing.”
“Am I?”
Hugh rubbed his hands together. “Now where’s that ragout?”
Though Berdie dropped the conversation about both spying out cake and her expanded rubber band discussion, she couldn’t let go of the possibility that all the various bits of her ‘fetid invention’ in some disparate way smelled of the same soup. And she wondered how soon it would come to a boil.
****
The sacristy clock read 7:25 PM.
Berdie sat before the opened laptop computer reading a tutorial on video conferencing operations.
Not until she had her conversation with Hugh did she realize how much she missed Lillie. Her friend was always keen to let Berdie talk about her investigative ideas and even relished her stretches. This elephant hunt had developed into far more, but relating her musings to Hugh was like bouncing balloons onto a needle.
The swoosh of the video doorbell on the computer alerted Berdie to Lillie’s arrival. Berdie clicked the correct icon and Lillie appeared on the screen before her. “Right on time,” Berdie greeted with a giant smile.
“I see you’re settled.” Lillie returned the greeting.
“You’ve got a bit of color.” Berdie observed Lillie’s flush of pink that crossed her nose and cheeks.
“It’s gorgeous here. Why have I never traveled to this island before?”
“Why did you travel there this time?”
Lillie squirmed. “You get right to it, don’t you?”
Berdie quietly waited for Lillie’s response, although she was almost certain now what it would be.
“All right.” Lillie didn’t blink. “I’m here because I told Harriett Norman I’d try to locate Livana Norman, her cousin.”
“Aha. Her cousin, you say?”
“Indeed. You see Harriett, whose parents died, was the ward of an uncle who had a daughter, Livana. The girls grew up together under his care. Harriett thinks of Livy as her big sister, and rightly so. Harriett isn’t as scatty as some would paint her.”
“Closing in on the far end of normal, I shouldn’t wonder.”
“She’s concerned about her cousin’s absence. The post code stamped on the card Livy sent was from Madeira.”
“And, have you been able to find anything?”
Lillie looked down. She raised her eyes and sighed. “I’m not adept at speaking Portuguese, but she’s not in hospital, or at the morgue, as best as I can decipher.”
Berdie leaned back in her chair. “Lillie, why didn’t you say?”
“Say?”
“Portugal, Madeira.”
“I knew you’d try to stop me.”
“That’s very true, but for good reason.”
Lillie straightened. “I’m here. And that’s for good reason, as well.”
Berdie could see this conversation going into a circular pattern that would do neither she nor Lillie any real good. Lillie was on a Portuguese island. Heaven help her. “So what have you uncovered besides no apparent hospitalization?”
“That’s just it.” Lillie’s voice was suddenly timid. She leaned forward. “I was hoping you might help me.”
“Lillie, I can’t dash to Portugal.”
“No, I mean, you know.” Lillie’s eyes expanded. “Berdie, I haven’t any idea what to do next.”
“Of course you don’t, lovey. You’re not an investigator.”
Lillie reared. “You’re not going to make a meal out of this?”
“No, Lillie. Do you see me laughing?” Berdie tried to maintain, but the corners of her mouth rose just a bit upward.
Lillie jabbed a finger toward the screen. “I see that, Bernadine Elliott.”
In a flash, Berdie and Lillie were laughing, Lillie so heartily that she bumped her head on her laptop screen. When Berdie finally collected herself, Lillie’s hilarity subsided as well.
“Lillie, for heaven’s sake, go relax by the pool, overeat, and dream under a palm tree like holiday makers do.”
“I’ll sneak in a bit of that, but truly, Berdie, I want to find this woman.”
Berdie shook her head. “It’s a great deal of work, and it could be dangerous.”
“First sign of danger I’ll return.”
Berdie acquiesced. “Do you have a photo of Livy?”
Lillie’s eyes lit. “I did remember the photo bit.” She held it up so Berdie could see it. The woman in the snap had a pleasant smile, kind eyes, but no truly outstanding features.
“Have you shown it to a Policia?”
Lillie shook her head in the negative.
“First thing in the morning, then. Not that they’ll do anything, but they may know something.”
“First thing.”
“What I recall from the postcard Harriett showed me, it was a seaside harbor, right?”
“Madeira is an island.”
“Check all the seaside hotels, inns, and especially those who cater to tourists, first. Show the photo to reception, maids, concierges, any who will take the time to look. Ask them if they’ve seen her and when.”
“That will take a while.”
“You’re the one who’s in Portugal. Now where are you staying?”
“I’m at a small guest house, O Palms. It has a lovely veranda and a sea view.”
“Does Loren know where you are?”
“I’m famished. It’s time for me to go overeat.”
“Lillie.”
“He’s at a pathology workshop in London.” She ran a finger through one of her curls. “A work colleague had to bow out due to illness. Or that’s what he claimed when he called yesterday, just hours before we were to depart for Aunt Margaret’s.”
Berdie dipped her chin. “Ah, I see.” That explained a great deal. And by the look on Lillie’s face, the topic was done being discussed.
“I really am quite peckish, Berdie, and I’ve gotten what’s needed for a good start in finding Livy.”
“Yes, well. Get in touch tomorrow and let me know how things go. And, Lillie, please do be very careful.”
“I won’t do anything you wouldn’t do.”
“Oh, my, you could be in for a peck of trouble.”
Lillie laughed. “I’ll call tomorrow.”
“God go with you.” When the screen went dark, Berdie felt a sudden longing. Not only were her children in far flung places, now her best friend was away. “Oh, buck up, old girl. She’ll probably be home in two days, tired and ready to give up hunting about altogether.” Still, she did miss her Watson.
Then she thought of the longings Olivia Mikalos could be feeling, if she drew breath, wherever she may be. And now, the absent Livana. “Oh Lord, keep them all in Your hand.”
8
“Let’s see. Access the Net. Yes, here we go.” Berdie held her mobile. She had asked Hugh, due to some morning chores, that she be the last to board the church people carrier bound for the Timsley cake safari with the garden committee. Now, delightfully, she had a few minutes going spare as she waited.
She scrolled through the mobile Net offerings. She had decided, for her bell tone, on a lovely and lively song from the fifties. It would be a new delightful ring for the mobile, and she needed to make up ground from the embarrassment created by her former ring amongst the garden committee.
“Yes, very good.” The songs popped up, and she browsed them. The loud blues guitar began its howl. “Oh, bother.” Berdie hurriedly danced her finger on the OK button and took the call. “Mrs. Elliott,” she answered.
A heavy wheeze.
Her whole being went on alert accompanied by a slight chill. “Please, who are you?” she almost begged.
A deep inhale and then a graveled, but sharp gasp followed. “Examine the money.”
“What money?”
“Promptly,” barely eked out across the connection.
Berdie was suddenly conscious of the vehicle horn blasting outside in the drive.
“No police,” the caller reinforced.
“I’m doing my best, but I need more…”
Click.
Berdie pulled the mobile from her ear and stared at it. “I need more blooming information,” she yelled.
“You need what?”
Berdie jumped and turned.
“Sorry to startle. I did knock.” Maggie Fairchild, topped with a bright pink hat, pointed at the kitchen back door.
“Maggie. Oh. I didn’t hear you.”
“Vicar said to come straight in. So sorry.” She craned forward. “Are you all right, dear?”
“Yes, I’m fine. Rather distracted.” Berdie took a deep inhale. “I’ll just get my bag.”
In no more than a minute, the door was locked firmly, and Berdie and Maggie stepped to the people carrier.
Hugh at the wheel, Bridget was in the other front seat. Conversation spiraled through the vehicle amongst the passengers while they scurried their way to Timsley.
However, Berdie was almost immune to the talk sprinkled about. Her thoughts centered on whose money to “examine”. Sir Percival, perhaps Myles Mikalos and his enterprises, or possibly Elise and her great lack of money. There was the cat couple. They apparently had money. On the other hand, rather than someone’s money, perhaps it was something’s money. The sports club? Olivia was presumably a member, the cat people lived near it. However, her best deductions fell squarely on Olivia Mikalos’ fortune. But, where and how could she quarry-out any facts about the wealth of a missing person? Then, when she considered the word promptly, the little vehicle in which she sat almost held her captive as it shuttled her to another task entirely. How could hunting for “a superior wedding cake” as Bridget McDermott had put it, be of greater value than finding someone in danger?
“Do we really need to do this?” unconsciously escaped Berdie’s lips.
“I agree.” Mr. Whipple, sitting next her, whispered. “I’m a gardener, not a baker.”
Berdie, realizing what she had prompted, considered her response to the recently retired, easy going gentleman who had a real way with roses. “Why, then, did you come, Mr. Whipple?”
He nodded toward Mrs. McDermott. “She said I was to come, and I’ve learned not to cross that one.”
Berdie nodded her head toward Hugh. “Nor
do I cross that one.”
A slight chuckle slipped from Mr. Whipple’s lips and Berdie joined him.
It was then Berdie became aware that the energetic conversations around her had come to rest.
“And what are you two chuckling about?” Mrs. McDermott queried.
Dear Mr. Whipple’s gaze met Berdie’s as they exchanged glances.
Hugh peeked in his rearview mirror at Berdie, recognizing the situation at hand. “Mrs. McDermott,” he addressed, “just what is it that sets a wedding cake apart so as to be excellent?”
Berdie grinned in gratitude for her husband.
Mr. Whipple offered an all-wise wink.
Poor Hugh. Bridget McDermott’s incredibly lengthy diatribe about the praiseworthiness of a well-done celebratory cake lasted the rest the way into Timsley.
By the time they reached their destination and disembarked, most seemed to have lost enthusiasm.
Berdie leaned closely to her husband and whispered, “I owe you one.”
“Indeed, you do,” he responded discreetly.
The aroma from The House of Helensfield Bakery begged that all should enter. The display windows showcased lovely tiered cakes, beautifully decorated with artistically etched icing. Photos of brides and grooms, birthday children, retirees, and guests of all sorts reveling in the cake-eating experience appeared as translucent clouds suspended above the model cakes.
“All masterpieces fit for a royal table,” Bridget beamed before the window.
“Do you ‘spose there’s any chance of free samples?” Mr. Whipple gazed at the cake-eating photos and looked suddenly interested.
A ripple of zest was renewed amongst the troop as they entered the bakery.
The lion’s share of the shop was composed of glass showcases that displayed both easy-to-order and ready-to-go celebratory cakes. But, there was a little area off to the right where a glass case of everyday breads and cakes were accompanied by a few small tables. Several people sat munching buns and other yeasty treats.
Mrs. McDermott adjusted the emerald brooch that was pinned on her floral design dress. “Those at Barlow House always ordered their cakes from this fine bakery.”
Into the Clouds Page 11