Into the Clouds

by Marilyn Leach

  “Hello, Berdie,” Lillie answered a bit breathy.

  Berdie reckoned this was a good start. “Lillie, I hope things are going well for you.”

  “Yes, thank you,” she clipped, “if you have an interest in hearing about them.” She took a deep breath.

  “Of course I do, Lillie. Listen, I’m sorry if I haven’t been the most supportive, it’s just…”

  “No need,” Lillie interrupted with a bit more pep in her voice. “Water under the bridge, and I’m certainly not a complete innocent.” She took a gulp of air.

  “Lillie, are you OK?”

  “It’s just that I’m rushing back to the guest house from the Funchal Marina.”

  Berdie heard what sounded like traffic creating splashes from water-filled roads.

  “It’s raining?”

  “Bucketing.”

  “You did take an umbrella?”

  “Actually, I had to buy one here.”

  “I should take a cab.”

  “Will do as soon as I reach the Boulevard do Mar.”

  “Can you carry on a conversation?”

  Lillie laughed. “Now when am I not capable of nattering on?”

  Berdie grinned. Yes, Lillie had moved on since their last conversation.

  “There have been interesting developments, Berdie, quite interesting.”

  She wanted to tell Lillie there were developments with her investigating, as well. But considering she hadn’t shown proper interest last time, instead she asked a question. “What are they?”

  “Following your suggestion, I’ve waded through wedding venues. I went to Os Arcos, a lovely seaside resort, where they specialize in weddings for people from abroad. A worker there recognized Livy from my photo. She said Livy and her intended, several weeks ago, had a very quiet, low profile wedding, not more than a ten minute affair, very last moment.”

  “Last minute?”

  “It wasn’t even on the hotel’s schedule of events for the day, the attendant said. It was just crammed in between two large weddings. That’s why she clearly remembered it.”

  “You were right all along, Lillie, she is married.”

  “Indeed.” Lillie took a deep inhale and the sound of passing vehicles sending sprays of water became louder. “I’ve reached the boulevard. I’m sure a cab will come by soon.”

  “Yes. And what about the groom?”

  “He’s English, registered as Morgan Cliff. He’s tall, handsome, light hair, some years older than the bride according to the worker.”

  “I see. And why did you go to the pier?”

  “Livy and husband said no to the free celebratory drinks following their vows. She made the comment that they’d celebrate on board.”

  “On board, that means a boat,” Berdie said to herself as much as to Lillie.

  “Lots of dinner cruises in Madeira.”

  Berdie heard a rustled sound, and then Lillie’s muted call for a taxi.

  “He flew right past,” Lillie said in a less than happy tone.

  “Show a little leg,” Berdie teased.

  “As wet as I’m getting, I’m tempted.”

  “Lillie, have you found Livy and her husband registered at a hotel?”

  “No, not anywhere I’ve checked so far, but then I’ve dozens yet to go.”

  “And what did you find at the pier?”

  “That’s it. Getting wet through for nothing really, apart from seeing the eye-popping leisure craft, and plenty of them. I tried yesterday as well as today. The authorities there, as well as the cruise service workers, were a bit rough and not at all eager to respond. Although it seemed to me a couple of the dock attendants registered a spark of recognition with Livy’s picture, none admitted it.”

  Berdie didn’t like the fact that Lillie, on her own, was poking around a waterfront. She knew they were often rather unsavory places. “Lillie, just how far are you taking this investigation?”

  Lillie released a heavy sigh. “The fact is, Berdie, I love Madeira, but this has turned into a real grind, far more work and much less fun than I thought.”

  “I think you’ve done marvelously, Lillie. You’ve a full report to give Harriett Norman. It really needn’t go any farther.”

  “But, I haven’t found Livy.”

  “Near enough. Let Harriett hire a private detective who has the resources necessary to take it from here, with absolutely no remorse on your part. As I said, you’ve done splendidly.”

  “Yes, perhaps.”

  Berdie heard an especially loud splash and Lillie yelped.

  “Lillie?”

  “I’m absolutely drenched head to toe.”

  There was a garbled sound, and Lillie’s voice skipped and chopped.

  “I…yes…taxi…tonight…”

  “What Lillie? You’re breaking up.”

  “Seven…video conference…talk.”

  “Lillie?” Berdie was met with silence. If she understood the string of bits and pieces correctly, she would be speaking with her friend on the computer at seven this evening. Although she didn’t get to talk with Lillie about the Mikalos case, she certainly would tonight if her understanding of Lillie’s words bore out. And the odds were high that with a slight nudge, Lillie could be back in Aidan Kirkwood tomorrow. Berdie jammed her cellphone into her bag with a sense of relief and delight for Lillie’s sake. Well, after video conferencing this evening and with a wing and a prayer, Lillie could be home soon.

  Berdie’s thoughts were shattered by a not-distant ricocheted gun shot. Instinctively, she ducked low in the car seat sending her glasses downward on her nose and her heart into an elevated rhythm. What on earth was going on? She heard music. Rock. Golden rock. She cautiously glanced upward through the bottom of the windscreen.

  Lucy Butz, standing in front of the White Window Box, had an odd squint as she stared at Berdie. The teen didn’t seem in the least alarmed.

  Berdie brought herself to an upright position again, pushed her glasses to their proper place and looked about. People were walking in and out of the shops, in conversation on the way, contented, by the look of it. None at all startled.

  Lucy came to the opened driver window. “Mrs. Elliott, you all right in there?”

  Berdie wondered if she may be losing her mind. “Lucy, you didn’t hear it?”

  “Hear what?”

  “No, I guess you didn’t.” Berdie tried to appear quite together and not at all baffled as the music continued.

  Lucy pointed to Berdie’s bag on the floor of the passenger side. “You mean that?” The corner of the teen’s mouth arched upward as what sounded like a growly fifties band resonated. “I dare say it could be your mobile?”

  “My mobile?” Berdie grabbed the bag and opened it. A single music note exploded from the interior and suddenly all became silent. Berdie lifted the instrument from her bag and checked. Yes, Hugh’s mobile number was displayed as most recent caller. She looked at Lucy. “That certainly wasn’t the song I chose.”

  “A song?” she glanced about.

  Berdie felt pink rise to her cheeks. “Nothing to trouble yourself with.” She took a deep breath. “Well, thank you, Lucy. You’ve been very helpful.”

  Lucy chuckled. “Sure, Mrs. Elliott, any time. By the way, thanks for taking my little brother to unload that mangy cat.”

  “It was my pleasure.” Berdie readjusted her glasses.

  “Now, you’re sure you’re all right?”

  “I’m fine, Lucy, love. Really.” As the teen walked into the shop, Berdie laid her head against the back of the car seat. Well, now, that was embarrassing. Certainly not one of her more glittering moments of church community life.

  What had insinuated itself as her mobile ring now? It was almost as if the machine had a mind of its own, constantly at odds with her about just who was in charge. She took a deep inhalation and let the air slip ever so slowly between her lips. Gathering her wits, she rang Hugh.

  “Berdie, love, have you finished your mercy cat run?”
he greeted.

  “Yes.” She took a shallow breath. “Where are you?”

  “You sound a bit shaky. You OK?”

  “Yes, Hugh, I am fine.” Berdie knew her response was a bit too loud. “I really am fine,” she reiterated in a calmer voice. “Now, are you home?”

  “No, in Timsley. I’m still at St. Mark’s. Listen, I have a bit of a problem. I told Natty’s niece that I’d look in on Natty at their home, but I’m due in less than twenty minutes, and I’m not going to make it. Reverend Simpson and I are still stuck on his Whitsun project, and I can’t get away. I’ve tried to ring Natty’s niece, but the line’s engaged.”

  “Let’s see, this is where you say, ‘Berdie would you please go by Natty’s, have a wee chat, and tell her I’ll arrange another time to call by.’”

  “Words out of my mouth. Except.”

  “Except what?”

  “You didn’t include the bit where I ask you to take her a small token, say flowers, grapes, something like that on behalf of the church.”

  Berdie glanced at the White Window Box. “That’s simple enough.”

  “Oh, good, that’s a relief.”

  “Who’s a lovely girl, then?”

  “Abounding in goodwill, just as you said this morning.”

  Berdie chuckled. “Cheeky you. Can I expect you home for tea?”

  “Of course, but a bit late. How about I get some take away?”

  “I’ll look forward to it. See you then.” Berdie was headed to the White Window Box more quickly than a spring bee to its blossom so intent was she on her new task. The bell clattered as she entered.

  Instantly, she felt as if in the midst of a garden, the scent of fresh flowers flooding the shop. She took a deep breath and somehow the entire world seemed at rights.

  Gifts of soap, cushions, framed art, and ceramics were sprinkled about with floral wreaths and vases of fresh flowers. All sat upon dressers, cabinets, classic shelves, and wooden fruit boxes in the style of what one might call country chic. It was a delight to the eyes and an invitation to browse.

  In one corner, Berdie spotted everyday garden tools displayed in spring colors along with festive garden pinnies. A Joe’s DIY placard was displayed among the objects. Nearby, a counter boasted posies in glass vases with ribbons.

  It looked to Berdie as though they were awaiting delivery.

  “Mrs. Elliott, hello,” Cara Donovan greeted as she emerged from the back board of the front display window.

  “Hello, and aren’t you the busy one?”

  Cara wiped her hands across her apron that was decorated with ditsy floral designs, and pushed a strand of her long blonde hair behind an ear. “Just setting the front window to rights, must appeal, you know.”

  “Indeed.”

  “Can I be of help?”

  “Well, I’m going to visit Natty, and I need a little something to lift her spirits.”

  “Sweet Batty Natty, I heard she did herself a mischief. Is she faring well?”

  Berdie nodded. “Yes. But she has to stay off her feet, and it doesn’t suit her.”

  Cara smiled, her gray eyes twinkling. “I’d say not. Did you see her prance in the procession Sunday?”

  She scooted to one of the dresser displays. “We’ve just started this get-well gift package, and we haven’t any going spare.” She pointed to a handled wicker basket that held items. “Four lavender sachets that we hand sew here in the shop, and we use special fabric.”

  Berdie eyed the floral-designed sachets. “How decidedly feminine.”

  “Then, we add lavender and lemon soap.” Cara picked up the fabric-wrapped rectangle and extended it for a sniff at Berdie’s nose.

  “Lovely.”

  “Mrs. Plinkerton’s daughter has been producing the soaps for us. Makes for a restful, scented bath.” She returned the soap to the basket and pointed to a small tin. “And we include some medicinal herb tea, and lastly, a hand-embroidered hankie for sniffles. The girl’s group do the hankies as a badge project.”

  “Sounds a treat. Please put it on the church account.”

  “Clergy discount, of course.” Cara plucked some petite grape irises from a silver bucket and placed them in a diminutive glass vase. “Take these along as well, the shop’s contribution to wishing Natty well.”

  Lucy Butz appeared from the back of the shop carrying two spring wreaths, music buds firmly planted in her ears. The spring wreaths were similar to the one that hung on the front door of Mrs. Mikalos’s home.

  “Anything else?” Lucy trumpeted Cara’s way.

  “The posies on the counter please, Lucy. The smaller one to the Harpers on Westwood Road, and the larger ones all go to the women’s surgery in Timsley,” Cara all but screamed.

  The teen nodded and scooped the posies into an awaiting cardboard box, bouncing in rhythm to whatever played in her ears.

  “Careful as you go,” Cara pronounced and opened the door for the escaping delivery girl, who gave her boss a thumbs-up.

  “Godspeed,” Berdie bellowed after her.

  Cara closed the door. “I pray every time she leaves the shop.”

  “For safe deliveries?”

  “That she’ll return alive.”

  “Yes, I’ve witnessed her driving, too.” Berdie swallowed a chuckle. “Still, is she your official delivery person?”

  “It’s official when she doesn’t have classes at the Tech, or studies, or sibling care at home, or a date with her latest admirer.”

  “Low on her priorities list, then.”

  “Very hit or miss, but desperately needed.” Cara put Berdie’s gift basket in a large white cotton draw-string bag with butterflies fluttering about it and the words White Window Box printed in sea green letters.

  “Where’s Rosalie?” Berdie wondered why the business partner wasn’t helping with the deliveries.

  “She’s in the back of the shop preparing the flowers for the Rayfield wedding in Mistcome Green. Plus, we have over a dozen orders for our spring wreaths that we have yet to put together. And they’re to be shipped tomorrow morning.”

  “Ah, speaking of wreaths.” Berdie took the bag in hand. “I was hoping I might gather some information. It could be valuable in helping someone in distress.”

  “Well then, I need to do all I can.”

  “One of your spring wreaths hangs on the door of the home of Mrs. Olivia Mikalos.”

  “Mrs. Mikalos. Isn’t she the woman who’s gone missing?”

  “Indeed. The wreath was a gift. I was hoping you could tell me by whom it was purchased and when. Do you have that information?”

  “Seeing as you’re clergy,” Cara leaned closer to Berdie, “or as good as, and an extraordinary sleuth as well, I’ll look in our delivery log.”

  “That kind of flattery could get you the best pew in the house,” Berdie teased.

  Cara emitted a gentle laugh and went straight to the computer. “Let’s see.” She clicked the mouse. “Our first spring wreaths were created in March.” Cara scrolled down the page.

  “Are your spring wreaths always delivered?”

  “I can count on one hand the people who have come into the shop to get them. Nearly all are ordered through our website.” She watched the screen. “They’re special, a bespoke design.”

  “And how’s that?”

  Cara continued her perusal. “They’re made with sage, lavender, flowering mint, sweet peas, a touch of rosemary, and either peonies or roses. The customer chooses the color and size of peonies or roses, fresh or dried.” Cara smiled at Berdie. “And here we are.” She tapped her finger on the screen. “One spring wreath with fresh White Pearl roses ordered one week ago with same day delivery to the home of Mrs. Mikalos.”

  “Just seven days ago?”

  Cara nodded. “Ordered by a Mr. Gavin Broadhouse.”

  “Seven days ago?” Berdie exclaimed. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “I see. Mr. Broadhouse. But seven months ago.”

&n
bsp; “Seven days ago,” Cara corrected.

  “Yes, I was thinking on a past conversation. Seven days. And how did he pay?”

  “Credit card,” Cara clipped.

  “Truly? Well, thank you. That’s very helpful, Cara.”

  Cara clicked the mouse. “Good, and God bless your efforts, Mrs. Elliott.”

  “You know, Cara, I believe He will. I must get on to Natty’s.”

  Berdie hurried back to her car while making mental notes.

  Gavin Broadhouse told her and Hugh that he stopped seeing Olivia Mikalos months ago. But was that true? Why does a gentleman send a wreath of flowers to a woman of romantic involvement, past or present? Is it to mark a special day, perhaps as an apology, for a reminder of enduring love? Paying by credit card for another woman’s gift was living rather dangerously for a married man. Could he possibly be Olivia’s kidnapper? Here it was, just another piece of the puzzle, and with puzzle pieces littered about the place, Berdie pulled onto the road in the direction of Natty’s home.

  She enjoyed Natty and it would be a quick visit. One speedy church task and she could give the whole of her thinking over to Olivia Mikalos.

  How long before all the pieces were gathered and fitted together?

  12

  Natty’s niece, Sandra, wore a slightly disappointed look when Berdie arrived and entered the home. Sandra’s light brown curls were enhanced with a crisp yellow gingham dress, and a ribbon round the waist.

  Berdie had an idea that Sandra somewhat fancied Hugh. Single and on the doorstep of her maturing fourth decade, she was a kind soul who was utterly devoted to her aunt’s well-being. But the demands of the home care left little time for social endeavors. An attractive vicar may have added a certain sunshine for the shy woman.

  “I’ll get the tea,” she announced after depositing Berdie in the sitting room where Natty lay comfortably on a finely upholstered chaise lounge, groomed and ready to welcome visitors.

  Despite Sandra’s disheartened welcome, Natty was delighted that Berdie was the one to come calling.