“I thought they had to sell up years back,” Maggie countered.
“Yes, dear, that’s why I said ordered.”
“Barlow House?” The words no sooner left Berdie’s mouth when a young woman, smartly dressed down to manicured fingernails, greeted the group.
“Welcome to The House of Helensfield.” She looked down at the notebook appointment calendar she held. “You’re the garden committee from St. Aidan of the Wood Parish Church in need of a wedding cake?” She raised her head. “I’m sure we have just what you want. Please browse among our offerings. Samples of each flavor will be forthcoming.”
Mr. Whipple’s eyes sparked.
“I suggest you narrow your options to three choices, and I’ll be glad to discuss pricing, delivery, and dates.”
The party dispersed amongst the showcases, Hugh accompanying Mr. Whipple.
Berdie glanced at the area that served the everyday pastries only to observe Elise Davies behind the glass case serving patrons their chosen delicacies. All in white, her duties appeared to be done in a perfunctory manor, swift and with little conversation. Berdie glanced at the committee. With as much stealth as she could manage, she made her way to the eatery showcase. “Good morning Mrs. Davies. What a nice surprise to see you here. I had no idea.”
Elise stared at Berdie, raised her eyebrows and set to on rearranging several tea cakes on the top shelf. “Well, Mrs. Elliott, you found me out.”
“Found you out?”
“Course work at university, the best of four years as an event planner, all to spend two mornings a week doling out cakes and pastries with an occasional foray into deliveries. Not something you bring up in conversation, is it?”
“It seems a pleasant place. Busy. The window display is quite well done.”
Miracle of miracles, Elise Davies smiled. “I did it.” Elise glanced toward the shop window. She caught her breath as her eyes grew round.
Berdie glanced in the direction Elise scrutinized.
A gentleman, ramrod straight with an arm in a sling, eyed the window display. He looked somehow familiar.
“Excuse me.” Elise was off in a flurry, bumping two seated patrons in her flight to the door. As she reached him outside, the fellow turned and now had his back to Berdie.
While Mrs. McDermott and party considered edible works of art, Berdie focused on Elise Davies’ visage which she could clearly see through the window. The woman wore a grin that consisted of more paste than Bridget McDermott’s ‘emerald’ brooch. A conversation ensued of which Berdie could make neither heads nor tails.
Mrs. Davies, in Berdie’s dealings, was direct to a fault. “So why the pretense with this fellow?” Berdie spoke under her breath and tried to observe without being too obvious.
“Berdie.” Hugh tapped her on the shoulder and begged her full attention. “You’re distracted, clearly. But could you find it in you to join the rest of us?”
“Hugh, any idea who that man is?” She nodded toward the window.
“What man?”
She returned her gaze to the window only to see the gentleman gone and Elise’s lips in a distinct purse.
“Berdie?” Hugh now took her by the elbow. “You owe me one? Remember?”
As much as Berdie wanted to bolt for the door and catch the enigmatic fellow, she considered Hugh’s plea. And seeing as Elise was now involved with another customer who eyed the window-displayed cakes, she succumbed. “Yes, all right.”
Thirty minutes of lively discussion ensued amongst the committee. Which size was best? What design suited a garden wedding? Mrs. Fairchild was quite keen it should be a floral motif. And, of course, there was the tasting, several times for each flavor. At last, three finalists were chosen. But, following the initial price tag shock, another choice was made altogether. A simple cake, one that Hugh and Mr. Whipple had recommended early on, was chosen from the economy selection whose cost was just less than three figures.
Hugh wore relief like a bright spring morning, and then beckoned the troupe to board the people carrier.
Berdie made her way to Elise at the counter, as the others went for the door. “I’ll take one of your crusty bloomers, please,” Berdie requested.
Elise set about collecting the bread.
“That chap you spoke with earlier, outside, he looked familiar. What is his name?”
“From where do you know him?” She wrapped the order in a long, narrow sheath of paper.
“I’m not sure.”
Elise handed the goods to Berdie. “Broadhouse. Mr. Gavin Broadhouse.”
“Gavin Broadhouse,” Berdie repeated, and gave Elise the exact amount.
“I need a dozen tea cakes,” a rushed customer interrupted. “Quickly, if you please.”
“Excuse me, Mrs. Elliott.” Elise attended to the client.
Berdie stepped to the shop window and searched her memory. “Broadhouse.” Then she quite remembered the morning she fetched Lillie to go visit Billie Finch. Lillie’s lodger. Broadhouse. “But I never met him,” she whispered. “Why should he look familiar?” How did Elise know him? Why were Elise’s lips pursed? One thing was certain; Berdie certainly knew where to find him.
“Mrs. Elliott?” Maggie stood at the open door.
“Coming,” Berdie declared and she quickly made way to the door. Suddenly, cake shopping had taken on a whole new horizon to become another foray into the ever growing stretch of a rubberband.
The return trip to Aidan Kirkwood seemed quicker.
Of course, Mrs. McDermott wasn’t rabbiting on about superior cakes, either.
Once Hugh dispersed everyone back to their homes, he turned into the High Street. “I’ve grown extraordinarily appreciative of your committee participation in this whole wedding package ordeal.”
“Ordeal. Yes, that word suits.”
“I’m just glad the bride has a cousin, who’s a vicar, to actually perform the ceremony.”
“That’s you off the hook.” Berdie grinned.
“Even so, I could do with a hot cuppa.”
“Yes,” Berdie agreed enthusiastically.
“Let’s stop at the Copper Kettle.”
“A treat for your longsuffering wife?” Berdie teased.
“Well, that and Villette always has today’s editions of the local papers about the place.”
“Ah.”
Once there, just before stepping into the shop, Berdie spotted Constable Goodnight rapidly making his way down the street, blustering and holding a Kirkwood Gazette in his hand. It appeared he was beating his way to the small newspaper office.
Two village women, just leaving the Copper Kettle, emitted a slight giggle.
“Our law man should wear one of those big broad hats. Fancy, Aidan Kirkwood’s very own, wild west cowboy.”
“Albie get your gun,” the other woman quoted a title.
This was not the first time Berdie had heard comments of this nature concerning the constable. Since Sunday’s live ammunition debacle, like remarks had circulated throughout the county. And it seemed Albert Goodnight did not take kindly to them.
“Hello Vicar,” one of the women offered with regained composure.
Hugh nodded.
Once in the shop, Villette appeared quite pleased to seat Hugh and Berdie even though others waited for a table. Promptly, she took their order: a simple pot of steaming hot tea.
Hugh pulled two newspapers from an empty table, one of which was the Kirkwood Gazette. “Special edition,” he read aloud.
Berdie spied the front page photo with the word missing below it.
“It’s official, then.” Hugh held the newspaper so Berdie could clearly see the picture of attractive Mrs. Olivia Mikalos.
“Official?”
“Well, surely, this is Goodnight’s doing.”
Berdie slipped down a bit in her chair.
“Perhaps you can suspend your own investigation now.”
“I shouldn’t count on it, Hugh. Linden has come to quite rely o
n me.” Berdie poured a splash of milk in Hugh’s cup.
And wasn’t Villette Horn’s timing impeccable as she arrived at the table with a hot teapot?
“Here you are, Vicar.” Villette’s smile accompanied her graceful pour into Hugh’s cup.
“Thank you, Mrs. Horn.”
“I’ve put my best tea cozy on the pot, keeps things toasty warm.”
“Very kind.” Hugh tipped his head.
“Now let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you,” Villette gushed.
“I will, indeed.” Hugh took a quick sip. With cup in hand, he settled down with the newspaper.
Berdie worked at not gaping. This was not the general treatment served up at Villette’s hand when she and Lillie frequented the Copper Kettle. She stared at her empty cup and then cast her gaze on the hostess.
Villette pulled her shoulders back while Berdie poured milk into her cup.
A quick sniff preceded Mrs. Horn’s retracting of the tea cozy and an obligatory tea that half-filled Berdie’s cup. The hostess placed the teapot back on the table and put the cozy over it again. “Now Vicar, let me know the minute you need topping up.”
“Thank you.” Hugh smiled at Villette, who left.
“I never,” Berdie mumbled.
“What, love?” Hugh’s eyes stayed on the newspaper.
Berdie sighed and put her elbow on the table, chin in her hand.
Dave Exton burst through the door of the Copper Kettle, newspaper in hand, sending the little shop bell into a frenzy. He flew past Villette and came directly to Berdie. “What do you think?” He beamed and held the paper high in the air, displaying the front page photo.
Tongues wagged as the tea drinkers observed.
Berdie sat up straight in her chair.
“Well?” he asked.
“Fine work.”
Hugh studied the newspaper editor.
The young man tossed a nod in Hugh’s direction. “Vicar.”
Berdie read excitement in Dave’s eyes as they grew large behind his smart glasses. “And with my nosing round, you’ll not believe what came up with the spade.”
Berdie stood as quickly as Dave had entered the shop. “My husband’s having a quiet read.” She raised her brows and nodded toward the door.
The editor squinted and took a quick breath. “Oh, yes, I see.”
“No, go right ahead,” Hugh encouraged, his nose out of the pages.
“It’s quite all right, Hugh. I need a moment with Mr. Exton, anyway. Continue your browse.” Berdie stepped to the door, Dave in tow. “We needn’t bother my husband with these things,” she offered in a low voice.
A smile spread across the editor’s youthful face. “Oh, that’s right. None too keen on your exploits, is he?”
“There’re no flies on you, my dear Mr. Exton.”
The newsman’s chest seemed to expand. He leaned forward. “Have you heard of an eco-exploratory firm called Miles to Go?”
Berdie shook her head. “Eco-exploratory?”
“Hydrogen powered cars, solar transport, all the same old ideas but with a fresh spectrum of possibilities. Anyway, Miles to Go is the brainchild of Myles Mikalos, the son of the missing woman.”
“Oh yes, his sister spoke of his financial exploits.”
“Well, millions of dollars have been sunk into the project, but it seems the whole thing is doomed to go belly-up unless there’s a fresh infusion of cash.”
“Truly?”
“Oh, that’s not all. Word in the city is there’s suspected mismanagement of funds, and a court case was mentioned. It could leave Mr. Mikalos absolutely skint.”
“This is reliable information?”
“As reliable as you can get in the murky edges of the journalistic world.”
Berdie could feel Hugh’s gaze observing her interaction with the newspaperman as he switched the Kirkwood Gazette for The Timsley Times.
Villette peeked out her large open window. “There are those who might be put off with you two gossips standing in front the door, you know.”
Berdie looked out the glass door window and saw no one. Still, she didn’t want to stir things up. “Perhaps we should move on,” Berdie offered. “You’ve done well.”
The fellow smiled.
“Keep that nose active.”
“Count on me, Mrs. Elliott.”
Villette discharged a very loud clearing of her throat.
Dave tipped his head toward the shop keeper. “She’s just jealous that she’s not got her nose in.”
“Be that as it may.”
“I’ll keep in touch.”
Berdie nodded and the young man exited the shop.
“Well.” Villette spoke just loud enough for Berdie to hear as the woman peered out the window. “Comes in with a hue and cry, but purchases nothing.”
Berdie quietly returned to her seat and took a sip of her now cool tea.
“That seemed rather cozy,” Hugh remarked.
“He’s excited to speak with another journalist.”
“Former journalist,” Hugh corrected.
“Oh, I shouldn’t say that if I were you. I still contribute once a week to ‘Recipe Corner.’”
Hugh chuckled. He laid The Timsley Times aside. “I’d like to sound you out on something.” Hugh folded his hands on the table.
“Yes?”
“This package wedding scheme, Mr. Webb hopes to do more of it. But it’s not really a job for the garden committee.”
“I’d say not a job for any committee. One person, a specialist of sorts, a wedding planner, is much more sensible.”
Hugh wore a half grin. “That’s what I was thinking. I’m glad you see it that way.”
Berdie nodded.
Hugh said no more, he just gazed at her intently.
“What?” She drew back. “Oh, no, Hugh. Not me.”
He leaned toward her. “Don’t reject it out of hand, Berdie. You’d be very good.”
Berdie crossed her arms.
“You’re good with details. You like to put things in order. You arranged our wedding almost single-handedly.”
“Our wedding was nearly thirty years ago.”
“You’re unflappable if something should go awry.”
“And it always does.”
“Well, there you see. And there could be a new hat in it for you.”
“Hugh, I’ve got more hats than Sundays. I’m just not the person to do this.” Berdie paused and uncrossed her arms. “Oh, I see what this about. I suppose you’ve asked absolutely everyone in the church if they would do it.”
“Not everyone.” Hugh tapped a finger on the table. “There’s Mr. Whipple, yet.”
Berdie couldn’t keep from chuckling, and Hugh, with a gentle shrug, joined in. The chuckles turned to a good laugh.
In the midst of it, Hugh’s mobile rang. “We’re not done with this discussion,” he warned Berdie before he answered. “Vicar.”
Hugh’s face became somewhat somber. “Yes, Loren.” Hugh looked at Berdie. “I see you got my voice message, then. Yes, it’s true. She’s in Portugal.” He paused. “My wife could tell you more about that.”
Berdie shook her head no. “I got a text from Lillie. We’re video conferencing in an hour or so. Tell him that I’ll ring up this evening.”
“Lillie’s not answering your calls? Yes, difficult, indeed. Loren, can Berdie call you this evening?”
Berdie knew she would feel better conversing with Loren after speaking with Lillie to see if frustration and lack of resolve would mean her imminent return.
“This evening is fine? I’m sure Berdie will look forward to your call.” Hugh paused. “You’re back in Timsley tomorrow afternoon?” He nodded toward Berdie.
She was pleased to hear this.
“Yes, good, yes, bye.” Hugh rang off.
“Home tomorrow, then. That’s good,” Berdie quipped. It could be just the thing to help motivate the lovely Lillie to come home now. Perhaps Lillie had forgo
tten and forgiven. At least she hoped so.
****
Berdie was glad Hugh was out of the sacristy as she leaned toward the laptop and saw that Lillie’s eyes sparkled. They enhanced her sun-kissed tan. In fact, she almost glowed. Even her tone of voice was alive with sunshine days of a Madeira spring.
“Things have gone quite well.” Lillie opened up a personal-sized notebook and scanned a pencil over the page. “I’ve made some real discoveries.”
“Have you?”
Berdie’s protégé perched stylish, black-framed glasses on her nose. “Now, I’ll start at the beginning.”
“That’s usually the way it goes.”
“I purchased a map of the island and created a grid over it so I could keep track of what hotels I’ve visited.” Lillie raised it so Berdie could see.
“Lillie, when did you get glasses?”
“What?” She put the map down. “I didn’t.” She stuck her finger through the frame where glass should be, then retrieved the map. “I’ve marked the places I’ve visited.”
Berdie had not expected empty frames, or this eagerness from her far-flung friend, nor the obvious sense of adventure that seemed to percolate her whole being. “Why the glasses, or rather, the frames?”
Lillie lifted her chin and ran a finger over the upper edges. “They give me an authoritative air.”
Berdie felt an edge of her mouth curve upward as she tipped her head. “Do they?”
“Berdie, do you want to hear what I’ve discovered or not?”
“Go on.”
“Now, when I spoke to Harriet, she said Livy came into money a few years back when her father died, apparently not just a little. So, I targeted the more posh hotels.”
“Good.” Berdie still worked at trying to find the authoritative air the empty frames gave her Watson.
Lillie grinned. “Well, she was seen dining at two of the hotel restaurants here several weeks ago.” Lillie circled her pencil around an area on the map.
“Really?”
“Here’s the significant part. In both cases, she wasn’t alone, she was with a fellow. I mean, with a fellow, according to servers.”
“There you go, Lillie. That’s it, you’ve cracked it. She’s met someone and decided to stay in Madeira. Well done. Case solved. You can return home.”
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