Another Bloody Love Story

by Rachel Green

  “That’d be cool,” said Winston. “We could make money being private investigators.”

  “Or do a mind reading act.” Valerie smiled.

  “No offence mate, but you’ll die and I’ll still be here when your bones are bleached and dry. I want revenge,” said Pennie.

  “From an accident?” Valerie shook her head. “Who do you want revenge on?”

  “Magelight,” said Pennie. “Jim Hunt and whoever killed Steve.”

  “How do you propose to do it?”

  It was Pennie’s turn to smile. “Two hundred thousand in cash in a safe deposit box,” she said. “I can give you the location and the key.”

  Valerie nodded, taking Winston’s mug and swilling them both out. “That’ll do nicely.”

  Chapter Forty-One

  Elegant fingers shuffled through parchment as Rebecca Weston verified the parchments were genuine. “That’ll do very nicely,” she told Chase, slipping them back into the packet. “You’ve done well.”

  “Did you have to kill her?” Chase’s glance flicked upward from the tarmac, alighting on her face for one brief moment before dropping again. “I didn’t want her killed.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Rebecca fished inside her car and pulled a package from the glove compartment. “We haven’t done anything to her. It rather begs the question ‘who did’? We thought it was you.”

  “Me?” Chase scowled. Why would I have killed her? I was in love with her.”

  “In love with her insurance money, perhaps.” She held out the package. “You did insure her life for a vast amount yesterday.”

  “That was a coincidence.” Chase took the packet, noticing the bank of mud on Miss. Watson’s heels. The pitfalls of meeting in a lay-by at Laverstone Woods. “I didn’t want her to die.”

  “Odd, since that would clear all your debts and allow you to reimburse the Sanctuary coffers.” Rebecca walked back to her car, opening the door but turning before she climbed inside. “I trust that concludes our business?”

  “What?” Chase looked at the packet in his hand, a standard yellow jiffy bag. “Oh. I suppose so, yes.”

  “Give me a call when you run out,” said Rebecca. “We could use a man of your talents. And a thousand won’t keep you for long.”

  Her car started up, a throaty roar that reminded Chase of James Bond films. With a shower of dirt and leaves from the tires, it, and Rebecca Weston, were gone.

  He looked at the money in his hands. Twenty fifty-pound notes, all used. He almost felt like throwing them away.

  Almost.

  Ten minutes later, his wagon was on double-yellow lines outside the bookmakers.

  “A thousand on Fallen Angel in the twelve-fifteen,” Chase told the cashier.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  “This is an unexpected pleasure.”

  Purvis stepped back to allow Valerie entry. “It’s not often I get a visitor first thing in the morning. Would you like some tea?”

  “No thank you.” Valerie sat at the kitchen table. “What is it about English men and tea? Everyone drinks it all of the time and expects me to as well. In the convent we were allowed one cup a day after the evening meal. More than that was hedonism and a trip to see Mother Superior.”

  “Ah. Sorry.” Purvis sat opposite, pulling up the step-stool to do so. He only had one chair in his kitchen. “What can I do for you? It ‘s a bit odd, having a nun…”

  “A former nun.”

  “Former nun, come to me for advice. Wouldn’t you be better off going to Father Hassock at Saint Pity’s?”

  “Not really, no.” Valerie leaned forward. “What do you know about demons?”

  Purvis laughed. “Demons?” he said. “They don’t exist outside of books and films.”

  “Of course they exist,” said Valerie. “You just can’t see them. Why are you sweating?”

  “Am I?” Purvis mopped his brow. “I hadn’t noticed. It’s probably just a little warm.”

  “Most of the Bible refers to demons somewhere,” said Valerie. “You can’t be a priest and not believe in them.”

  “I’m not a priest, though,” said Purvis. “I’m a C of E vicar and we’re a bit more progressive in this church. The church takes the view that demons are a metaphor for man’s ills, casting out a demon is…”

  “What rot are you spouting?” said Valerie. “I can see you believe in demons because there’s one washing the dishes.”

  “Is there?” Purvis sagged. “I’m an evil man,” he said. “It’s all true. I’ve signed a pact with the devil.”

  “Whatever for?” Valerie stood up, one hand reaching for the knife she kept at her ankle. “What could a demon possible offer a man of the cloth?”

  “Ambition?” said Purvis. “And love.”

  “You’re in love with a demon?” Valerie grimaced. “That’s just a little bit icky for my taste.”

  “No.” Purvis stood. “No, not a demon. You.” He took a step toward her. “If I got a promotion to bishop I’d be able to afford to take a wife. Then I could ask you to marry me.”

  “Me?” Valerie sat again. “But I’ve never thought of you in that way. I’ve never thought on me in that way. I was a bride of Christ.”

  “But they threw you out of the convent!” Purvis dropped to one knee at her side. “Don’t give me an answer yet. Promise me you’ll give it some serious thought.”

  “All right, I promise!” Valerie threw up her hands as a defence against him encroaching further. “Now, will you please sit down and pull yourself together?”

  She put her hands on the table, taking a deep breath. “Now, I have a problem with a demon and I need some help. Can you help me exorcise a demon from a man or not?”

  Purvis shook his head. “I’m not allowed,” he said. “Only a Catholic priest or a bishop can do that. You’d have to ask Bishop Wolsey to do it, and he doesn’t believe in demons either.”

  “What would persuade him?” asked Valerie. “Money? Power?”

  “A generous donation would persuade him to at least go through the motions,” said Purvis. “I could arrange an introduction, if you like.”

  “That would work.” Valerie nodded distantly. “I’ll make a donation of a thousand now and another ten when it’s done.” She pulled out a banker’s cash bag. “Here,” she said. “Here’s the thousand. Get him to come today if he wants another ten. The price goes down tomorrow.”

  Purvis nodded, staring at the pile of bank notes. “I’m certainly being tested,” he said. “I could have the church roof fixed with that. The bishop will add it to the Cathedral fund if I give it to him.”

  Valerie shrugged. “Take it,” she said. “He’ll never know.”

  “But I will.” Purvis arranged the notes into a stack and got out an envelope from a kitchen drawer. “It would be another stain on my already black soul.”

  “Or not.” Valerie stood. “Tell the bishop my client is offering nine thousand instead of ten. I’ll drop the rest on a collection plate.”

  “God bless you, Valerie Quarter,” said Purvis, wiping away a tear of gratitude. “God will reward you in Heaven.”

  “Let’s hope so, Purvis.” Valerie thought about all the people she’d sent there personally. “It’s all checks and balances, isn’t it?”

  She looked at the imp sitting on the edge of the sink polishing tea spoons. “How exactly were you expecting to get a promotion?” she asked.

  “The current bishop has to retire first,” said Purvis. “The devil promised me when he did he would name me as his successor.”

  “So no plans for an assassination then?” She looked at the stack of bills on the table. “Lives are cheap these days.”

  “Not that cheap,” said Purvis. “I wouldn’t be able to look myself in
the face again.”

  “Good.” Valerie scribbled a number onto the envelope. “That’s my mobile,” she said. “Call me when he’s confirmed his willingness to do an exorcism.”

  “This is your number?” Purvis’ mouth moved as he memorized it.

  “Don’t wear it out.” Valerie smiled. “It’ll be valid for a few days and then I’ll get rid of it.”

  “When will I see you next?” asked Purvis as she opened the door. “Will you come to the service tomorrow?”

  “The wedding?” Valerie frowned. “I may do. Latitia invited me but I’m not entirely certain it’s going to go ahead.”

  “Why not?” Purvis leaned on the table. “Are there problems between the loving couple?”

  “Not yet,” said Valerie. “There might be if the Bishop agrees to come.” She stepped outside and stood blinking in the sun after the dimness of the vicarage kitchen.

  “I don’t understand.” Purvis came to the door. “Why would that make a problem?”

  “Because,” said Valerie, “it’s the demon that Latitia’s in love with.”

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Felicia opened the gallery, thankful to have a normal business day but dreading the wedding tomorrow. Harold’s bookshop upstairs was already open and she had no more than put her briefcase down in her office when the internal phone began to ring.

  “Hi.” Julie switched the phone to speaker mode and dropped into her seat. She rubbed her eyes with her hands, trying to massage normality back in.

  “I saw you come in on the internal cameras.” Julie’s voice was peppered with the sounds of crunching. “Fancy coming up for coffee?”

  “I’ve only just got in…” Felicia shook her head silently. “Could you come down, instead? At least I can deal with the post while we talk.”

  “Sure. Got room for a friend?”

  “As long as it’s not Harold. He threw away my pot of coffee at the house this morning. Three weeks I’ve been brewing it until it was like treacle. It was perfect.”

  “It was also mouldy.” Harold’s voice came over the speaker. “Good morning to you too, Felicia. Why can’t you drink tea like a sane person?”

  “Sorry Harold. I haven’t been able to drink tea since Mother forced it upon us every night when we were kids. I swore when we moved out, I’d never touch the stuff again.”

  “To be fair, she used to make it with Holy Water,” said Julie. “It stopped you becoming something other than human until you moved out.”

  “There you go,” said Harold. “Tea keeps you human.”

  “I’ll be right down,” said Julie.

  Felicia just caught “Harold, that was a private…” before the phone went dead. She grinned. It wasn’t that she didn’t like Harold, it was the way he treated the Manor as if he owned it. Yes, he owned it, but he didn’t have to treat the rest of them the way he did. It wasn’t like they didn’t clean up after themselves.

  She spent the time until Julie appeared going through the e-mails of the last two days. When Julie appeared a few minutes later, armed with a pair of lattes from the coffee shop, she turned away from the computer.

  “Oh,” she said as her second visitor appeared. “What happened to you?”

  “I fell down the stairs at my flat,” said Pennie, perching on the edge of the photocopier. “Then I went through the stained glass in the door and got guillotined. Then I watched Chase break into my apartment and steal the papers Steve trusted to me. Then I followed Winston and watched him have a mini-breakdown over my death, then he made jokes at my expense. Why do people do that?”

  “She’s not having a good day,” said Julie, passing over one of the coffee cups.

  “See?” Pennie waved two hands at her.

  “People make jokes to cover their embarrassment,” said Felicia. “What are we supposed to do? Wail and beat our chests in a manner befitting our irreconcilable loss of your friendship? Or mention casually that you can’t lie to us because we’ll see right through you?”

  “Funny, very funny.” Pennie folded her arms. “I should have put a contract out on him too.”

  “Why?” Felicia frowned. “What have you done?”

  “I talked to that lovely girl, Valerie, who was so helpful yesterday. I wondered how a nun was so good with computers. Turns out she moonlights as a contract killer. Handy that. Handy that I had a big wad of cash stashed in a safe deposit box too. I put a contract out on Jim Hunt.”

  “That was…enterprising. Why? Because he was spying on your flat or because he’s possessed by a demon?”

  Pennie frowned. “Neither, actually. I didn’t know about the demon thing, though it makes a sick kind of sense that my husband was working for a demon. I want him dead because he killed me.”

  Felicia looked at Julie. “You know all this already, don’t you? Why couldn’t you have emailed me?”

  “Because I get to see your face this way. Jim’s made a life-size homunculus out of metallic resin in the image of her husband. It’s like being attacked by an Action Man.”

  “The one that’s missing, presumed dead?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “And it attacked you, did it?”

  “Sort of,” said Pennie. “It came toward me and I fell backwards down the stairs. It was trying to touch me.”

  “Which would rather indicate it was trying to communicate.” Felicia frowned. “Harold knows more about this stuff than I do, but isn’t it likely that the Homunculus is Steve and he was trying to tell you a message from beyond the grave. He was probably desperate to tell you that he still loved you and would wait for you beyond the veil or something.”

  Pennie frowned, considering the idea. Felicia took advantage of the lull in conversation to take three rapid swigs of her coffee, regretting it instantly.

  “It’s still hot,” said Julie helpfully, as Felicia sprayed it over her trousers.

  “If Steven still loves me, even though his spirit is tied up in that…thing…why did he go haring off after Chase?”

  Julie started. “Did it? You didn’t mention that before.”

  “I didn’t think it mattered.” Pennie shrugged, making a ripple in the air before the poster of Ophelia. It made her breasts wobble. “I was so annoyed with Chase I just thought ‘good riddance’.”

  “We have to save him,” said Julie, looking at Felicia.

  “Must we?” Felicia looked at the pile of unopened post and said. “Why? I have too much to do here.”

  “Day jobs are for superheroes,” said Felicia.

  “Ones that have to pay rent, like us.”

  “Let him get pushed down some stairs too,” said Pennie. “He deserves it. I was falling in love with him and all he wanted was the stupid papers.”

  “I doubt that,” said Julie. “You said you didn’t tell him about them until after your house was burgled. He stole them after that, probably at the instigation of a third party.”

  “Oh God.” Pennie stood, covering her open mouth with her hands. “We have to save him.”

  “Come on then.” Julie swigged the last of her coffee, raising an eyebrow at Felicia’s astonishment. “It beats working.”

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chase whistled as he pushed open the door of the insurance brokers, then remembered why he was here and swapped his cheer for solemnity. He approached the desk, pretending to study the posters.

  “Can I help you, sir?” There was a man behind the desk and Chase craned his neck, trying to see through to the back room, hoping there would be a female assistant as well. “I have a policy,” he said. “My accountant set it up for me and I need to put in a claim.”

  “Jolly good, sir.” The man, whose name was Michael Lanier according to the billy-club sized nameplate smiled, his fingers poised over the keyboard like
a concert pianist. “Do take a seat.”

  “Thanks.” Chase pulled a tubular-framed chair from the next desk along. “It’s a life assurance policy.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.” Michael used the mouse to navigate a series of screens. “What was the insured’s name?”

  “Pennie,” said Chase. “Pennie Black, like the stamp.”

  Index fingers stabbed at keys. “I can’t find a policy in that name,” he said. “Might Black be a common usage name? Perhaps there’s a legal name as well.”

  “Oh.” Chase visualised the employee records in his head. “Lowry,” he said. “Pennie Lowry.”

  Michael over-typed Black with Lowry. “That’s better,” he said. “There is a policy.” He squinted at the screen. “Oh! It’s only been in operation since yesterday.”

  “That’s right,” said Chase. “Bit of a lucky break really. “ He looked at Michael’s incredulous expression. “Not lucky,” he said. “I didn’t mean lucky at all. Very unlucky, in fact, especially for Pennie. We shall all miss her dreadfully.”

  “All?” Michael peered at the document on the screen. “It says here that you’re the only beneficiary.” He looked up. “I take it you’re Charlton Heston Spencer?”

  “That’s right.” Chase smiled. “She was the last of her line, I think. Even her ex-husband pre-deceased her.”

  “Then you’ll be a million pounds the richer,” said Michael. “When did the young lady die?”

  “Young lady?” Chase frowned. “You mean Pennie? About half-past eight.”

  “Last night?”

  “This morning.”

  “This morning?” Michael looked shocked. “It’s only just gone noon. She won’t be cold yet and you’re putting a claim in? You, sir, have to be the most insensate, mephitic ghoul I’ve ever had the misfortune to deal with. “ He stood up, the better to raise his voice. “There won’t even have been a coroner’s report or a death certificate yet. What a coincidence that you take out a policy the day before she dies.”