“Come, Hugh. It is a clever ruse,” Lillie added.
“What do you think, Loren?” Hugh looked to the doctor for support.
“It would nail the coffin shut, but it does involve some risk.”
“Very little,” Berdie asserted.
The foursome sat comfortably in the vicarage library, Mr. Finn being momentarily dismissed for an early lunch at the doctor’s arrival. The couples had just retired to the room following a tea Berdie prepared. She hoped that bacon and Brie toasties garnished with beetroot marmalade and served with Brown Windsor soup might make her husband a bit more willing to discuss even delicate topics. At the least, it was “unhinging the door” to discussion with help from a warming fire and the scent of crisped cinnamon almonds.
Berdie passed the holiday nut bowl round accompanied by Christmas napkins.
“I rather think Jasper Kent would take exception to your thought that it would be risky. I mean, with he and his boys littered about.” Berdie popped a hot almond in her mouth.
“Undercover,” Hugh reminded, “and that’s only if the Yard decides to go along with this charade.”
“In all fairness, Hugh, I believe they would think Berdie’s plan quite admirable.” Loren relaxed back into the generous armchair and took a sip of tea.
“Even with the one-in-ten chance that the perpetrator should smell a rat, the Yard is jolly on the spot.” Lillie demonstrated her newly acquired investigative jargon while making a good point.
“And Goodnight would he be informed?” Hugh asked.
“If he’s available.” Lillie smiled.
Dr. Meredith chuckled. “Have you not heard, Hugh? He drew the short straw. He’s playing Father Christmas at the Policeman’s Charity Youth Party.”
“Those dear children will be traumatized.” Berdie popped another sweet nut in her mouth.
Hugh didn’t join the jovial spirit.
“I daresay Kent would see to Goodnight being made aware.” Loren gave Hugh a reassuring nod.
The three knew Hugh was really as keen as anyone to see the assailant behind bars. But they were also aware that he was certainly resistant to Berdie’s plan.
Hugh took a new tack. “Christmas is next week and all. Do we really need to do this now?”
“What a gift for our community,” Lillie suggested, and it was just the thing Berdie had been considering.
“Closure, yes...put the whole affair behind us and move on to wholly celebrating this sacred season.” Loren took his beloved’s hand and the couple smiled. “I agree with Lillie.”
“Closure for our parish,” Berdie reinforced, “and a fresh start for our innocent Jamie and dispirited Cara.”
“I hate standing by while that pair suffer so. And our entire parish could do with a bright holiday.” Hugh made his first positive comment on the issue.
He stood and went to the mantel. He ran his hand across the wood. It halted at the figurine of a sweet Christmas angel, all white and dusted with soft glow sparkles. It held a banner that read Glory to God in the Highest, Peace and Goodwill to Men.
“There are conditions.” Hugh pursed his lips.
Berdie observed a slight lift of both eyebrows. “Yes?” She braced herself.
“I make the telephone call. I’m the primary contender, not my wife.”
Berdie stiffened a bit.
Hugh continued. “If it goes pear-shaped, I’ve got excellent defensive skills.”
“That’s just it, isn’t it?” Berdie needed to watch her volume control. “I would use my knowledge of the case to entrap. You’d have them prone on the floor without a confession. No, if you call they’ll see through.”
The doctor agreed with Hugh. “I don’t see the plan any less salable with Hugh as the key element, and I must say I’d do the same if it were Lillie.”
Lillie agreed with Loren. “I think it’s a very gallant gesture.”
Berdie flashed a quick scowl at her friend.
“It is best,” Loren reiterated.
Her loving husband moved toward her. He put his hand on her shoulder. “Berdie, you are the love of my life and the mother of our children. I won’t allow harmful chances.”
“Well, since you put it that way...” She sighed. “And if we catch the ogre...”
The plan was immediately put upon. Berdie was in her element. Law officials were contacted and everyone briefed on their responsibilities. Everything was in order.
Then Hugh made the call that set everything in motion. Berdie was pleased with the way her husband handled the conversation, and it ended cordially.
“The offender has risen to the bait,” he reported. “Zero hour is three in the afternoon on Wednesday. May the Lord keep a careful eye and grant us full resolution.”
****
After serving her husband a thank-you treat—a grand English roast and all the trimmings—Berdie washed the lunch dishes with a dash of extra vigor. Tomorrow was D-day, and she was more than ready. Although Hugh would be the one smack in the middle of things, she was pleased. She had also invited the women’s prayer group to “pray for victory in a delicate matter” which they delighted in doing. All was going according to plans. Well, all but the disgraceful dishwasher. Berdie tried it earlier for the breakfast dishes and the silly thing just sounded some protest grunts and went completely silent. But in the great scheme of things, it was simply an irritant. She had much larger fish to fry.
The warmth of the kitchen stood well against the icy downpour outside. She hoped her husband had remembered to take the umbrella for his call out to Carlisle’s farm. The temporary hire car seemed a bit temperamental. She also wondered how Lillie and Loren were doing on a Christmas shopping lunch hour in Timsley. What a day to be out about. But then when you’re in the flush of new love, does weather matter?
Berdie washed the last of the food utensils and laid them on the drain board. She fancied a hot cuppa, so she put the kettle on. It would go quite well with the murder mystery novel that was half done.
“I think I’ll have a read,” she said out loud.
“Oh yes?” a voice responded.
Berdie nearly left her skin. She caught her breath and put her hand to her heart, where she could feel the rapid fire of it. She recognized that dreadful voice. The sound of it now gave rise to an arctic chill. Dear Lord, my dear Lord, she prayed silently. Slowly and deliberately, she turned to look in the direction from which the voice arose. Calm down, she told herself, and be very careful.
“My now! A man of the cloth should always knock, Reverend Lewis.” She breathed, realizing her unsteady voice betrayed her alarm. She tried to amend her display with a pallid smile.
The man stood silent, observing each succinct detail of Berdie’s performance.
“You’re just in time for tea,” she offered.
“I’m not here for tea, Mrs. Elliott, and you know it. Arrived a bit earlier than you planned?”
Berdie swallowed. “Hugh should be home any moment.”
“Oh, I think your husband is in a spot of bother, Berdie, fixing a rascally tire on the road to Carlisle’s farm.” The man sniffed. “You know, even over the telephone, you can smell a stitch up.”
Her eyes searched across the sink to the drain board. A hint of light caught where the carving knife lay wet, as if bathed in its own perspiration.
Observing her wandering eye, the uninvited guest sneered, an edgy laugh slipping through his lips. “Now, now, remember, you’re a vicar’s wife. You don’t want to do anything rash.”
“And you know all about rash.” Berdie tried to keep her voice even.
He stepped toward her, and she immediately backed up.
“All you had to do,” he said, thrusting a finger toward her face as his voice elevated, “was keep that interfering nose out.”
Berdie nearly stumbled taking backward steps. Where is his weapon? Right now, his only crime was intimidation.
The man’s nostrils flared. “I had the perfect plan, you know.”
<
br /> Berdie could hear Hugh’s words in her mind: “Ironclad almost always sinks at some juncture.”
Dear God, she prayed silently, my plan is in the drink. Don’t let me go with it. “There is no perfect plan,” Berdie spoke firmly.
The man’s eyes narrowed. “You question my competence...my genius?”
First step in hostage negotiations, Berdie remembered from reporting on a case: Keep the perpetrator talking.
“Your first mistake was using the new moon.” Berdie thought back to the missing Advent candle found in Livingston’s bedroom.
“New moon?” The violator laughed in low tones. “I’m not guided by celestial bodies.”
He doesn’t know about the moon symbols. He doesn’t know about the numbers in the wreath. He doesn’t even have the metal box. I hold all the cards.
Berdie glanced toward the back door, and as quickly as she did, the intruder came squarely between her and the possible escape route.
“You should have listened to Miss Livingston’s instruction,” Berdie offered.
The man’s face went red. “Listen to that Gypsy?”
“Yes, Gerhard.” Berdie saw the surprise in his eyes. Good, caught off guard.
“Uniquely clever of me, telling Mr. Raheem that I wanted to walk the ladies home to get our party conversation issues resolved. Raheem’s sort is always an easy mark.”
“Because you abused the collar.” Berdie’s voice was loud. Calm, she reminded herself. “When Miriam told you to use a candle from her side table in the entry hall, you didn’t take heed. Instead, you took a candle from the Advent wreath, already anxious to espy the territory for what you were seeking. Impatience, Gerhard. Your first careless mistake in the murder of Miss Livingston.”
“Mistake? She’s gone, isn’t she?” He scowled.
“You see, there were wax drips in the bedroom. Because they were cool, they made body pressure points. That meant the candle found at her bedside was used earlier in the evening. First your farce; later your murder. You were careless, very careless.”
He snarled, edging closer.
Berdie stood firm. Stay calm old girl.
The intruder sneered. “You haven’t noted the brilliance of my plan to take that nutter woman home last. I kept that Batty Natty with me as a witness, albeit questionable, then I assisted the old things; protected them in the dark, lit candles, soothed nerves, all but tucked them in.”
“I daresay. But to give sleeping tablets to an elderly Roma woman who abhorred modern medicine, another mistake.”
The man’s face contorted. “You ignorant Hausfrau. I snipped those outside electrical wires so cleanly, just the smallest of clips, no one knew they were altered. I set a cottage ablaze and was above suspicion. And that sniveling Donovan, a smile and a moment’s attention, the lad spilled his insides. The fool nearly framed himself!”
Keep talking, you arrogant con.
He took another step toward her. “With what ease I involved guileless people in the whole affair, oh yes. And Goodnight. He was just a treat on the side, the best friend a methodical assassin could hope for.”
The beads of perspiration rose on the assailant’s face. Berdie sensed he was on the edge of an eruption, and that often meant carelessness.
“And you a common little wench, tell me what mistakes I made?”
It was then she saw it, just the smallest shimmer of steel, held in his right palm. The Lord is my shield! Berdie plucked up her courage.
“The early morning of Miri’s murder you left a message for Hugh that excused you for tardiness to your appointment. A needy car, you said. Set your alibi. But you were reckless. You forgot about the unique earsplitting chime of Miss Livingston’s clock. All caught on tape.”
Unexpectedly, a brightly whistled “Joy to the World” sounded forth as the back door flew open and a jolly Edsel Butz splashed into the kitchen, toolbox in hand.
“Oh, Mrs. Elliott, didn’t know anyone was here. Sorry.” The robust man hailed the visitor who spun to face the intrusion. “Reverend Lewis.”
Berdie tried to lunge away, but the impersonator slammed his body backward, pinning Berdie to the wall.
“Steady on there, Reverend, you nearly knocked Mrs. Elliott over.”
“Well now, the town jester stumbles in.” Lewis frowned as he repositioned his body just next to Berdie.
She inhaled as a sharp touch made itself known at her rib.
“I had an odd moment to come repair...” Edsel Butz went silent as his gaze fell on Lewis’s hand. “See here. What’s that you’re holding?”
“The brain of a gnat!” Lewis spewed.
Edsel’s eyes narrowed. He took a step forward.
“Ah, ah, stay there, or the harebrained cow gets it.” Lewis gave the weapon another purposeful nudge that made Berdie draw air through her clenched teeth.
The charlatan tipped his head. “Did I say harebrained cow? No, that title’s reserved for your dim wife.”
Edsel’s face went bullish.
“Don’t listen to him, Edsel,” Berdie warned. “He’s angry because he can’t find it.”
Lewis balked. “Can’t find what?” he growled.
Berdie took a shallow breath. “Livingston and Nav died by your hand.”
The intruder smirked.
“An entire community is in chaos,” Berdie went on. “The Yard is breathing down your neck, but you still haven’t found the evidence that incriminates your family.”
Lewis caught his breath. “Where is it? Tell me!” His whole body shook as his face went dark.
As tightly as Lewis gripped his weapon, Berdie clung fast to the truth. “Gerhard!” Her voice was solid. “This isn’t going to bring your father back.”
Like a beast struck by an unexpected arrow, the man flinched. The pressure at Berdie’s rib became unsteady.
As Lewis fought to regain control, Berdie wrenched herself sideward, knocking the old dishwasher with a profound thud.
Boom! bang! The roar of a sonic blast ripped through the kitchen. Water erupted like Noah’s deluge, spraying the room and its inhabitants with cold moisture. Grinding and scraping assaulted ears like a bad microphone.
Gerald Lewis, unnerved and thrown off balance, dropped the hand holding his knife.
With a mighty shove, Berdie pushed the tyrant’s arm farther aside and called out. “Toolbox!”
Edsel Butz, with one powerful sideward thrust, swung his toolbox, which dropped Lewis to the floor, unconscious.
“Call me what you like,” Edsel pronounced loudly over the man, water dripping from his chin, “but never, ever call my missus a harebrained cow!”
The machine silenced. Berdie, in a mixture of relief and humor, began to laugh and cry at the same time. “God bless you, Edsel Butz, and God bless that beloved machine.”
“Are you OK, Mrs. Elliott?”
Berdie’s knees wanted to buckle but she held steady. It was then she realized, amidst all the to-do, it wasn’t Edsel speaking those words. There in her kitchen doorway stood Father Christmas, billowing beard and all, with Mr. Finn beside him. She blinked then wiped her glasses.
Father Christmas drew off his beard. “We got a call that a black luxury auto was parked at the church.” He looked round the deluged kitchen. “Poor plumbing.”
Berdie gaped, a water droplet clinging to her nose. “Goodnight?”
Finn flew to where Lewis lay and snapped a pair of handcuffs on the unconscious man.
Edsel thrust his hand toward Lewis. “Charge that man with slander.” He raised his chin. “Slander against my wife.”
Finn arose. “Well done, sir.”
“Oh t’weren’t me done well,” Edsel corrected, “’twas our parish priest’s brave wife. The courage of ten, that one.”
Berdie glowed.
Goodnight, hands on hips, shook his raggedy white shoulder-length curls that made his eyebrows and mustache look even wilder than usual. “Fortunate you’re alive.” He looked at Berdie. “And I should t
hink you’ve gotten your Christmas gift already. But I must say, is there ever a moment when you’re not right in it?”
15
The church bell peeled joyfully across the village as Berdie strolled from the church to the vicarage. To her the chimes sang out peace, joy, and redemption for mankind. Not just because it was Christmas Eve, but once again the whole community was moving wonderfully forward.
Just this afternoon the very proper and very public uniting of Jamie and Cara Donovan had taken place at the church. The village had left behind the initial shock of Cara and Mathew’s ruse, the clandestine marriage, and news of a little Donovan. It was replaced with simple admiration for the love that Cara and Jamie dearly held for one another through a very deep valley. Although, it must be said, Preston Graystone was having great difficulty in adjusting to the whole affair. Still, the bride was radiant in French lace, and the Irishman, fitted out in tux and tie, smiled with a fresh glint in his eye.
“All so lovely,” Berdie spoke to herself. She reflected back on Jamie’s release from prison. “A new start on life again,” the lad had told Berdie upon his release from the jail. In a rush of gratitude, he hugged his “clergyman” as a released captive embraces freedom.
“How can I ever thank you, Mrs. Elliott?”
Berdie had looked heavenward then straight into the eyes of a grateful young man. “There’s Someone else you need to thank as well,” she reminded.
“Oh, have done.” Jamie grinned. “Over and over.”
“Well then,” she continued, “move on to pursue your dreams. And take care to watch over your family. I’ll see you both at church soon, yes?” Berdie had smiled.
In only a matter of hours, the church in celebration moved from the afternoon’s joyful joining of two people to the glorious evening’s remembrance of One born.
The bells continued their song as Berdie now focused her thoughts to this glorious evening. “Oh lovely indeed,” she said aloud. It seemed to her that the stars shown just a bit brighter tonight. And there, not ten paces ahead, was her dear husband. He bid good evening quietly to a couple that walked toward the village.
Candle for a Corpse Page 19