Candle for a Corpse

by Marilyn Leach

  “I can try.”

  “Natty,” Berdie said with voice elevated, “Lillie is going to take you home. I’m going to look in on Miriam. OK? Do you think you can walk?”

  The dazed woman shook her head affirmatively. A look of relief shot through the elderly woman’s face and with Berdie and Lillie helping, Natty stood. Lillie placed the woman’s thin arm around her shoulder and wrapped her own arm around the cold woolen jumper.

  “Here we go, dear, one step at a time,” Lillie encouraged.

  Berdie took a deep breath and stepped inside. There was a second door ahead, and it, too, was open. She had witnessed this scenario before—open doors in dicey weather, no apparent occupant at hand. It almost always announced foul play and never lent itself to any good. With her gloved hand, she pushed the second door wide.

  The small entry hallway was dark. Berdie cautiously put one foot inside. She paused. “Miss Livingston?” Her voice was strong.

  She had observed from outside, the many times she had passed it, that this cottage was apparently laid out somewhat like a row house. There would be the entry, the hall, and rooms just off that central hallway identified by entry doors, perhaps glass, perhaps wood.

  “Hello, Miss Livingston,” she called out again. There was no response, just a steady tick, tick, tick, of what Berdie guessed was a grandfather clock. She crossed the threshold, now fully into the hall. “It’s Mrs. Elliott.” Tick, tick, tick.

  “Where’s the light?” She felt along the wall and found a switch. She pressed it. Nothing happened. She pressed again, and again. A shiver ran across her neck. She wished Lillie were with her.

  “Steel yourself, old girl.”

  Berdie felt her way two steps down the left side of the hall and found another door ajar. She pushed it open. The tick of the clock was keenly louder. This must be the sitting room. There was a small crack of light where a drawn drape across a window hadn’t closed properly.

  “‘The Lord is my shepherd...’” Berdie’s shoulders tightened. She stepped lightly around the back of an object. The toe of her shoe caught on something and she stumbled. She righted herself quickly.

  “‘Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death...’”

  A startling bong split through the darkness. Berdie jumped, putting her hand to her racing heart.

  “Wretched clock!” She took a large swallow of air, slowly releasing it to bring herself back to center. In four more steps, she was at the window. With one magnanimous swoop, Berdie flung the long drape open.

  “‘I will fear no evil.’” She spun round. The gray light of a winter morning revealed a hailstorm of devastation. Books from shelves littered the floor. Overstuffed furniture, pillows and quilts were gashed open, spewing the filling all across the room. Paintings were slashed, wall decor torn from their mountings. Even dead cinders from the fireplace were strewn across the hearthrug. Nothing was upright or in place, except one thing. There on the mantel of the fireplace the Advent wreath stood upright. Though missing one of the four singular candles, the large central Christ candle and three smaller ones stood in their proper place, valiantly, amidst the rubble.

  Berdie’s investigative reporting skills and training came to her as automatically as snow in winter. But what would Hugh say?

  “No,” she spoke aloud. “I need to call emergency services. Let them take care of all this.”

  Berdie was out of the cottage and halfway down the garden walk when Lillie met her. “Berdie?”

  “My mobile phone’s in the car, Lillie.” Berdie was terse. “Do you have yours with you?”

  Lillie pulled the mobile from her overcoat pocket. Berdie grabbed it and dialed rapidly.

  “Is Natty set right?” Berdie asked.

  “I started a hot bath for her and used her electric kettle to brew up some warming tea.”

  “Yes,” Berdie spoke into the phone. “Emergency services?” She paused. “Mrs. Goodnight?”

  “Yes, you need my husband then?” Mrs. Goodnight asked.

  “I need him urgently,” Berdie nearly shouted.

  “Oh no.” Lillie bit her lip.

  “I’m at Lavender Cottage.” Berdie breathed deeply to try to calm herself.

  “He’s on a call at Carlisle Cathcart’s farm. I’ll ring his mobile.”

  “I should hope so,” Berdie clipped then handed the phone back to Lillie. “I mean, really. I can’t believe emergency services rang Constable Goodnight’s home!”

  “It’s a small village.” Lillie rubbed her bare hands together. “Is Miriam all right?”

  “No...I don’t know.”

  “What do you mean you don’t know?”

  “How far away is the Cathcart farm?” Berdie was anxious.

  “Probably fifteen minutes full on. Is that where Goodnight is?”

  Berdie grimaced and stood silent.

  Lillie pushed past her, making a beeline for the front door of the cottage, but Berdie caught her by her coat sleeve.

  “Don’t go in,” Berdie warned.

  “Bernadine Elliott! Miriam could be lying in there hurt, and if something is badly wrong, Guard Albert Goodnight could literally be a life’s breath too late. Besides, he’s hardly worth tuppance when he does show up.”

  “Right!” In less time than it takes to cut a Christmas cookie, the women threw the front doors open wide, planted garden rocks as doorstops, and found their way to the stairwell.

  “Have you been in here before, Lillie?”

  “A couple times.”

  “Her bedroom?”

  “Top left, I believe. Why are we going to the bedroom?” Lillie asked as they quickly negotiated the stairway.

  “If what I think happened, happened...”

  “What do you think happened?” They stepped onto the landing.

  “Where are your mittens, Lillie?”

  “I left them at Nat’s.”

  Berdie pulled off one of her gloves. “I know it will feel awkward, but put this on backwards on your right hand. If you touch anything, use that hand.”

  Lillie took the glove and struggled to get it on.

  The small porthole window on the back wall offered enough light to carefully navigate the landing. The bedroom door was wide open.

  “Lillie, is this the loo?” Berdie pointed to the room on the right side of the landing. “Try to find the light switch and ascertain if it is in the ‘on’ position or the ‘off’ position. Don’t touch it. And be careful, the floor may be littered.”

  Lillie prudently proceeded.

  “Miss Livingston,” Berdie called out, then eased herself into the bedroom. A dirty garret window wearing small voile curtains supplied just a shaving of light. An odd odor played with Berdie’s nose. She sniffed. Her nose contorted. It was the overpowering smell of sweet dried lavender mixed with the dark scent of cessation of life. Barely visible, on the floor very near her feet, Berdie observed the outline of a body etched in the bleak winter light. Miriam Livingston lay in bloodstained nightclothes. Berdie bent low, close to the body. With her ungloved hand, she felt for a pulse, knowing at first touch it was a futile gesture. The blood looked like it had come from the upper abdomen.

  “The poor old soul.” Pity and anger churned in Berdie’s stomach. She glanced around the dim room. The area was strewn with bits of stems and blooms. The bed mattress was up on end at the foot of the box spring. The space was ransacked. Again, nothing appeared to be in its proper place. Drawers were open, many lay upside down on the floor with contents dumped. The wardrobe was gutted. “What’s that?” Berdie noticed small pieces of paper lying in clumps across a long rug running the edge of the bed. She looked closer. “Hundred-pound notes!”

  “Berdie?” Lillie’s voice was tentative. She stood in the doorway of the bedroom. “The bathroom is a disaster area.”

  Berdie arose, and Lillie’s gaze landed on the corpse. “Oh my.” Lillie put her gloved hand to her mouth. The pungent odor must have assaulted her nose, for she sway
ed.

  Berdie reached her in time to grab her elbow and guide her to the stairwell. “Let’s sit down.” Both women sat very near each other on the top stair.

  “Is it natural causes?” Lillie seemed hopeful.

  “No,” was all Berdie said.

  Lillie’s eyes moistened. “Even as a little girl I loved her front garden...and her lovely singing voice. Crotchety old thing.”

  “I know, love.” Berdie kindly took her friend’s hand. The two women sat in silence.

  Four minutes is but a flash, but for a quiet mourner and a consoling friend sitting together in a dark place with a body in the next room, it’s a moment frozen in time.

  “They’re not going to get away with this, whoever did it!” The hard edge of Lillie’s voice sliced through the silence.

  “Let justice roll down like the mighty waters,” Berdie agreed.

  “What’s the first step of an investigation?” Lillie stood resolutely. “Checking for witnesses,” she answered herself. “Let’s get to it then.”

  “Look Lillie, we found Miriam. There’s nothing we can do for her now.” Berdie was blunt. “And no, you check the actual crime scene, that’s the first step.”

  “Finding who did this, isn’t that doing something for Miriam?”

  “If Hugh thought I was getting involved—”

  “You are involved. Do you see Hugh here? Is it a mistake that, as it worked out, you’re the one who set out for the jumble sale? At least do a look-see. It’s your gift, Berdie, and more than that, it’s your moral duty.” Lillie was almost shouting.

  Berdie stood. “I suppose... The light’s poor but it couldn’t hurt.”

  The two women, back in the bedroom, stepped carefully across the fray and opened the curtains.

  “Don’t move anything,” Berdie instructed. “Was the loo light turned off?”

  “Yes.” Lillie was close to Berdie.

  “I was afraid of that,” Berdie said half under her breath.

  “Do you think the person who did this needed to relieve himself?”

  “Or herself. Of course not, but I do think the perpetrator may have already known the lights weren’t working.”

  “How?” Lillie plied.

  “You enter a room where there is no light, you’re trying to find something hidden, obviously, and you turn on the light.”

  “But they didn’t try because they knew it wasn’t working.”

  “It’s a possibility.” Berdie bent toward the floor. “Look, there’s melted candle wax here.” She moved on. “Here and here, as well.”

  “How did you notice that?” Lillie wrinkled her brow.

  Carefully, Berdie picked up a half-burned candle with her gloved hand and inspected it. “This is the Advent candle from downstairs.” She placed it gently back down in the very spot she found it. “It’s often the smallest thing that holds the most truth.” Lillie, take a whiff of the underside of the mattress.”

  The obedient helper, Lillie moved to the upturned mattress and took a tiny sniff. She drew her head back. “Overpowering smell of lavender.”

  Berdie arose and brought one of the hundred-pound notes with her. She sniffed the money. “Just as I expected...lavender.” She handed the money to Lillie, who put it to her nose, too.

  “I would say our dear Miss Livingston had a very large account at the Bank of the Box Spring.” Berdie pointed to the bed. “She wrapped the money in dried lavender and made her deposits.”

  “Then it’s true.” Lillie looked at the scattered notes and sprigs of the purple blooms. “It was rumored in the village that she kept money in the house.”

  “My guess is Miss Livingston knew the killer.”

  “What?” Lillie’s eyes grew round.

  “There’s no forced entry at the door, at least not in front.”

  “Are you saying someone from the village...” Lillie stopped short.

  Berdie edged closer to the body. Something caught her eye. Gingerly she lifted the hem of the dead woman’s nightgown. What she saw lying there sent a shudder through her body.

  “I can’t breathe.” Lillie started to sway again.

  Berdie bounced up and steadied her friend. “Let’s go downstairs to the back door.”

  The door that faced the back garden and the potting shed was standing fully open when they got there. Lillie inhaled the cool air while Berdie inspected the door and locks. “No forced entry here either. Do you know if Miriam kept a key under a pot, something like that?”

  “I can’t imagine she would; she wasn’t terribly trusting,” Lillie drew another long, deep breath.

  “Yes, well...” Berdie turned to her friend. “Are you up to continuing this look-see?”

  “Absolutely.” Lillie exhaled.

  “That’s my girl. You check the sitting room windows to see if they have been messed about, and I’m going to look more closely at the Advent wreath.”

  Both women were about their tasks in the sitting room.

  “Why the Advent wreath?” Lillie asked while inspecting a window.

  “I can’t help but think the candle upstairs and the undisturbed wreath down here have something to tell us.”

  Just then, Berdie heard a shuffle at the front door. She froze. “Shh.”

  A huge dark figure stood in the arch of the sitting room door. Berdie grabbed the fireplace poker. “And what are you two up to?” Constable Albert Goodnight boomed.

  Lillie leaped as if shot through by an electric bolt, and Berdie dropped the poker with a loud clang.

  “The murdered body of Miriam Livingston is in the upstairs bedroom,” Lillie blurted.

  “Body?” The guard pulled the nightstick from its place on his rotund waist. “You two, outside,” he bellowed. “And don’t move from the front garden.”

  After a few moments, Constable Goodnight emerged from the house. “Dead indeed,” he said.

  The policeman’s jacket fit so tightly around his ample body, the gaps between the buttons revealed his shirt beneath. Observing the hairy growth beneath his nose, Berdie was sure he had never met a pair of mustache scissors.

  “Mind you,” he piped, “it was a tragedy in the waiting.”

  “How so?” Berdie asked.

  “Everyone in Aidan Kirkwood knows Miriam Livingston doesn’t believe in banks. Or I should say didn’t believe in banks. Old fool kept her life savings in cash, right here. Some dogs have more sense than that one.”

  “Really.” Lillie was clearly offended.

  Berdie wondered how many murder investigations Goodnight had attended to, if any.

  The guard dog glanced at the two women’s hands, observing that they each had only one glove on, and one of those was on backward. “You didn’t touch anything in there, did ya?” he bawled.

  “We are aware of how to treat a crime scene.” Berdie hoped to assure.

  Goodnight’s eyes narrowed. “Are y’now?” He touched the police insignia badge with his forefinger. “This is now a secured crime scene and this is my patch, so why don’t you two toddle on home and have some tea?”

  “But we found the body.” Lillie frowned and took a step toward Goodnight.

  “I know where y’live. I’ll come round when I need you,” he boomed. “Now go home.”

  Berdie spun on her heel, and Lillie followed her down the path to the gate.

  “And didn’t I tell you about Goodnight, Berdie?” Lillie spit out the words.

  “Not worth tuppance.” Both women articulated at the same moment.

  3

  Once outside the gate of Lavender Cottage, the two women immediately dismissed Goodnight’s command to go home and went next door to check on Natty. When they knocked, she came to her front window and espied them before opening her door.

  “Quite lucid.” Berdie was pleased.

  “Quite, considering her ordeal,” Lillie agreed.

  After the pensioner opened the door and let them in, she stuck her head out and looked about before closing and locking t
he door securely. Still in her dressing robe from the bath, her neck was wrapped with a woolen scarf that had white snowflakes decorating the edges. She had also donned the holiday mittens Lillie lent to her earlier. Natty’s white tresses dripped water, making little spots all across her robe and scarf.

  “Do sit,” she offered cheerily. “There’s a full pot of fresh tea in the kitchen, I believe.”

  “I’ll get it for us, Natty.” Berdie went to the kitchen while the two women sat comfortably in the sitting room.

  True to course, Berdie found the hot teapot on the kitchen counter. It would seem Natty was better able to process her thinking when she was in the shelter of her own home. Berdie looked round for some cups and spotted a used one on the kitchen table. Sitting near it was a small television and a fully laden cup tree. The old oaken table was covered with a toile de Jouy-patterned tablecloth. Set on a cream-colored background, little sheep grazed across the table in quiet meadows with small water pools and ancient trees, all in a sun-faded shade of blue.

  “How marvelously French,” Berdie said. Then she spotted the curtains at the gracious kitchen window. They, too, were made of the same fabric. She stopped. “I wonder.”

  The window looked directly into Miriam Livingston’s back garden—or rather directly onto the dilapidated fence that surrounded the garden. A large section of the fence was missing. Berdie sat in the table chair that faced the window. The empty cup was at her hand and the television beyond it on the table edge closest to the window. She looked out upon the winter morning and the large gaping hole in the fence. “Straight on,” she said.

  Berdie opened wide the kitchen door into the sitting room. “Ladies, what say we have tea in the kitchen?”

  “Right.” Lillie was up, but Natty sat as if glued on the love seat. She gripped the arm of the rose-patterned sofa, making her knuckles turn a frightening white. She looked at Berdie. “I shan’t go in there, I shan’t. I shan’t go in that room.”

  Lillie glanced at Berdie, who immediately consoled the unwilling woman. “It’s all right, Natty. We’ll take tea in the sitting room.”

  Lillie reassuringly patted Natty’s shoulder.