Up from the Grave

by Marilyn Leach

  Mr. Raheem entered the pub. Mr. Smith took steps across the car park.

  “Mr. Smith,” Berdie called.

  The man continued walking.

  “Mr. John Smith,” Berdie called again.

  The fellow glanced at Berdie and took two more steps before stopping short. “Yes, sorry, good morning.” He greeted almost pleasantly.

  “May I have a word with you, please?

  “I am in rather a rush. Could it wait?”

  “Only a moment of your time.” Berdie came closer to the man who switched his carrier bag to the other hand.

  It was then Berdie noticed that the man’s neck was covered with tiny red bumps. She couldn’t help but stare. Surely not measles.

  Mr. Smith apparently could feel her ogle.

  “Some fool put lemon in my tea this morning at that B and B. Allergic,” he pronounced. “Now what is it you want?”

  Berdie stood firm and took a deep breath. “Mr. Smith, are you aware that when Mathew Reese tried to ring you at the number you gave as your home phone, he got a pet store in Norwich?”

  The man frowned. “What matter is it to you?”

  “I have to ask. Are you particularly fond of Venezuelan spiders?”

  “Spiders?” He pulled his head back. “Why should I have an interest in those wretched little creatures?”

  Berdie lifted her chin.

  The man’s eyes flashed and his cheeks flushed. “Just what are you implying, vicar’s wife?” He narrowed his eyes. “You’re accusing me of planting that dreadful spider at Swithy Lodge.”

  “I’m not accusing you of anything, Mr. Smith,” Berdie said firmly. “But you must admit your behavior has been anything but reliable. A bogus telephone number and the Mr. Smith identity is hardly masterful. Tell me why I shouldn’t consider you a possible malevolent?”

  The man raised his chin and stuck his chest out. “I should not be named in the same breath as that vehement spider, because I haven’t anything to do with the dreadful episode. I shouldn’t wish that woman any harm,” he snapped. “And why does a self-appointed busybody stick her nose into my personal business? As plainly as I can put it, clear off.”

  “You must realize, Mr. Smith, that the truth will eventually be known.”

  The gentleman shifted the carrier bag back to the other hand. His eyes bored into Berdie’s face. “The revelation of truth is of great concern to more than just yourself you know.”

  The man, as if in military posture, turned his back to Berdie and walked away, taking long, strong, confident strides.

  Lillie came near Berdie. “That was rather direct.”

  Berdie shook her head. “What an odd fellow. I really think he’s telling the truth about the spider bit. But he’s hiding something, sure as dafs bloom in spring. And it’s something core to this whole messy business.” She shook her head. “I’m sure I’ve seen him before.”

  “What did he mean when he said you weren’t the only one who wanted the truth?”

  “What did he mean indeed?” Berdie shook her head, again. “What a morning: a man who offers information to clean his soul and one who denies information to keep his mask firmly in place.”

  Two couples and a group of five walked cross the car park and entered the Upland Arms.

  “What say we get our breakfast take-away.” Lillie eyed another person who approached the door. “I don’t fancy waiting weeks for a seat.”

  “And especially when the vicarage has so many comfortable empty ones.”

  Twenty minutes later, Berdie and Lillie were munching on fried eggs, sausage, bacon, beans, tomatoes, mushrooms, and a fried bread: the full English breakfast, in the quiet comfort of the vicarage kitchen. And accompanying the meal, they had a fresh pot of steaming hot PG Tips tea. The kitchen was near silence as the two tucked in.

  “Wonderful sausage.” Berdie finally spoke.

  “Eggs cooked to perfection.” Lillie wiped her lips with the napkin and took a swallow of tea. “Did I tell you? I’ve invited Loren to my music festival in St. Erts.” Lillie took a bite of tomato. “Aunt Margaret’s country house in St. Ives is just a jaunt away. She said she’d love to meet Loren and has invited us to stay with her during the festival.”

  Berdie nodded her head, chewing a piece of sausage.

  “He’s going to try to get the time off work.”

  Berdie widened her eyes and swallowed. “What did you say?”

  Lillie scooped some beans. “Loren’s going to try to get the weekend off.”

  “No, before that.”

  “Aunt Margaret has offered to host Loren and me when I attend the music festival in St. Erts.”

  “Saint Erts,” Berdie exclaimed.

  Lillie took a sip of tea. “Yes, that’s right, St Erts.”

  Berdie put her fork down and sat straight back in her chair. “Lillie, you’re brilliant.”

  “So my mother was right all along, then.” Lillie smiled and munched.

  “We need to go over to the church.” Berdie hopped from her chair.

  Lillie swallowed. “Excuse me, I’m eating breakfast.”

  “Yes, well, bring it with you if you like. I need to get on the computer.” Berdie was already at the kitchen door. “Stay here if it suits you.”

  By the time Berdie reached the vicarage hallway, Lillie was right behind, plate and cup in hand, her fried bread clenched in her lips.

  When they arrived at the church, Berdie buzzed into the sacristy. She moved some papers aside on the desk to make room for Lillie and her food.

  Berdie moved to the computer, opposite Lillie, at the desk. Lillie continued her breakfast while Berdie sat in the large desk chair and danced her fingers on the computer keyboard.

  “Are you going to tell me just what we’re doing?” Lillie asked in between bites of egg.

  “You, dear, are finishing your breakfast. I am searching for answers.” Berdie concentrated on the monitor. “Do you remember what lovely Coral at council housing in London told us? There was something her husband, Joby, heard Wanda Pitts say repeatedly when full of the drink.”

  “My head hurts?”

  “Very droll, Lillie. Now think. In fact, think trees.”

  “Oh yes,” Lilly mumbled. “What was that? Beech, Willow.”

  “Evergreen,” Berdie corrected. “’Earth cares for my Evergreen’. Remember? ‘They will do what’s best.’ It struck me odd at the time, and I’ve puzzled over it since.”

  Lillie nodded and took a sip of now lukewarm tea.

  “What if Wanda Pitts was not saying earth, but Erts?”

  Lillie squinted. “Erts will do what’s best?”

  “Look.” Berdie pointed to the monitor. “St. Erts Church, the village of St. Erts, The Benevolent Society of St. Erts.” Berdie touched the computer screen. “St Erts Children’s Home, St. Erts Shelter for the Needy of London. We’re on to something here.”

  With gusto, Berdie reached across the desk to get the phone. “I’ve got to ring up Billy Beaton.” In the process, her elbow bumped Lillie’s hand that held her teacup. Brown liquid went air born, sloshed from the receptacle, and splashed all cross Hugh’s desk, soiling several papers.

  “Lillie.” Berdie wiped drops from the computer screen as well. “What have you done?”

  “What have I done?”

  Both women were on their feet. Lillie used her napkin to soak up the errant fluid while Berdie grabbed tissues from a nearby box and began a hectic blotting of the papers.

  Berdie examined the damp papers closely. “Oh no,” she all but shouted.

  “What?”

  “It’s christening certificates.” Berdie groaned as she pulled down her glasses and inspected the certificates. “These are copies. Yes, I believe so.”

  “Not so bad then.” Lillie’s voice was slightly buoyant while she continued the cleanup.

  “Charles Montague Swindon-Pierce,” Berdie read. “St. Marks in Earl Court.” Berdie perked. “Oh, these are the copies Hugh requested for
the marriage procedures.” Berdie placed another certificate on top of Charles’ paper and dabbed it lightly. “Yes, this is Robin’s. Roberta Daniela Darbyshire.” She squinted and ran her finger across the moist area.

  “Where was she christened?” Lillie asked still mopping.

  “Here, of course. England. Remember? The moment they touched English soil Flora Preswood said.”

  “There’s another one.” Lillie pointed to a third sheet of paper.

  “Quite right.” Berdie put the paper on top of the others and dabbed it lightly. “Rosalie Diana Darbyshire.”

  “Why would Hugh have Rosalie’s christening record?”

  “I don’t know. Perhaps Hugh requested it.” She pushed her glasses back up her nose and ran her finger across Rosalie’s document.

  Lillie stopped cleaning and scanned the length of the desk. “What’s Hugh going to say?”

  “Hugh.” Berdie pursed her lips and looked at Lillie. “Yes, well, we’ll find out when you tell him.”

  “When I tell him? He’s your husband.”

  Berdie laid all three certificates in a row next to one another. “So that makes me the messenger for all messes?” She blew on them.

  “That’s not what I implied.”

  “It was your tea.”

  “It was your elbow.”

  The door opened and Hugh quickly stepped into the fray. “What are you two jabbering about?”

  Both women went silent. Then Berdie said “Um” at the exact same moment Lillie said, “Well.”

  Hugh frowned. “I see.” He crossed his arms. “Put it to me, then.”

  Berdie half smiled and waved her hand across the wet certificates. Lillie grabbed the plate and cup from where it sat.

  Hugh moved to the desk. His left eyebrow arched when he saw the christening certificates.

  “These things happen.” Lillie tried to hide the empty cup behind her back.

  “I don’t want to know,” he said as he picked up a certificate, took it in, and nodded. “Tea I’d say, right cross the lot.”

  Berdie clasped her hands together. “Truly sorry, Hugh.”

  “Yes,” Lillie added.

  “Fine.” Hugh ran a finger over the wet print that read Charles Montague Swindon-Pierce. “No sense crying over spilt milk, or tea, as it were.” He looked at Berdie then Lillie. “You were in here for…”

  “Computer.” Berdie pointed.

  Hugh nodded.

  “As you’re here, I believe a conversation with you is in order,”—Berdie said with a slight lilt—“concerning the cloak and dagger I met at the Pork and Barrel.”

  Hugh straightened. “Absolutely nothing to talk about concerning that, nothing at all. Am I making myself clear?”

  “Abundantly.” Berdie winced.

  “I’m expecting Mr. Webb any moment. He’s offering a five hundred pound reward for the person who brings to rights the perpetrator of Contessa Santolio’s spider attack. He wants to post it on the church web page.” Hugh waved a certificate in the air, as if a flag, to dry it. “Off you go then.” He waved his hand towards the door.

  “Look closely at those, Hugh.” Berdie’s voice was restrained.

  “I intend to,” Hugh clipped. “Now don’t let me keep you.”

  Berdie and Lillie, rather like sheep, left the room.

  “That was a bit dismissive.” Berdie looked to her friend.

  “Well, can you blame him, really?” Lillie brought the cup out of hiding.

  “I s’pose not.”

  Walking while chatting with Lillie, the few yards to the vicarage, Berdie spotted Cherry Lawler on the other side of the road. The young woman walked swiftly in the direction opposite.

  “Cherry.” Berdie called and waved. “Good morning.”

  Cherry hesitated. She turned her pixie face towards Berdie and Lillie, but it wasn’t dressed with its usual warm smile. In fact, a nod of the head is all she offered, then turned quickly, and continued on her way.

  “We must speak.” Berdie elevated her voice.

  “Must we?” Cherry shouted. The woman kept her pace and turned down the High Street.

  “Dismissal number two, I should say.” Lillie watched the departing figure. “She’s attending to something urgent?”

  Berdie sighed. “Could be. I owe her my apology for all the Wilkie Gordon business.”

  “You still haven’t done that?” Lillie looked surprised. “No wonder she’s not keen on spending time with you.”

  “Every time I’ve gotten a moment to give a proper apology, something interrupts.”

  Berdie could see Cherry nearly jog. “Or maybe there’s more to it. She didn’t even offer to ring me later.”

  “Come to think of it, that’s not like her at all. Even in a rush, she gives a greeting.”

  Berdie stopped and tipped her head. “Large amount of pounds,” she mused. “And she’s aware, that I’m aware, but her grandfather’s not aware of what we’re aware of.” Berdie widened her eyes. “But what if Wilkie has become aware and given her information she doesn’t want to make aware to me?”

  Lillie scrunched her nose. “And I’m aware that you’re not making any sense.”

  “Oh, perfect sense, Lillie.” Berdie shook her head. “I believe Cherry Lawler’s avoiding me.” Berdie tapped her finger on her chin. “Not for long, I dare say.” She smiled. “In fact, I believe I shall coincidently be at the Copper Kettle tomorrow when Cherry fetches her tea buns for the B and B. Fancy a cuppa, my dear?”

  “Does Monday follow Sunday?” Lillie winked.

  12

  Berdie, almost finished with her morning chores, continued to consider how to nab dear Cherry. Catch her unawares, that would be the best approach. Apologize and then with careful reassurances, find out if that was the only reason Cherry was dodging her.

  Berdie’s musings were interrupted when she heard the sound of youthful voices emanating from nearby. She peaked across the diminutive table and chairs she was cleaning to the small kitchen window, just beyond, that faced the back garden.

  A dark haired young man who was already developing a distinctive barrel chest, much like his father’s, was in plain sight. Indeed, twelve-year-old Milton Butz was hanging about the now dismantled crime scene with two other lads. They were dressed in blue trousers, and blue sweatshirts, with white shirts underneath, which Berdie recognized instantly as the village school uniform.

  “What are they doing?” Berdie said aloud.

  With quick steps, she opened the back door and decided to approach the young men rather than call to them. Better able to see what they were up to, she reasoned.

  As she made her way to the area, the trio scrambled to retrieve books and notepads that littered the ground.

  “Mrs. Elliott,” Milton greeted when she arrived.

  “Hello Milton.”

  The two others stood quite still, holding their school goods.

  “Lovely day.” Berdie smiled.

  “Yes,” said one of the boys whom she didn’t recognize at all.

  The other boy, she realized, was the grandson of the indomitable Mrs. McDermott. Yes, his wiry mop of red hair and matching freckles made him quite recognizable. What was his name?

  “This is where they found that little boy,” the young McDermott blurted pointing to the freshly restored dirt.

  “Kevin.” Milton Butz frowned.

  “I see Kevin takes after his grandmother.” Berdie nodded. “Yes, Kevin, sadly it is.”

  “Well, if some no-good grabbed my little brother, I’d knock him in the head.” He shook his fist while wrinkling his freckled nose.

  “Yes, I believe you would, Kevin.”

  “Me, too,” Milton added, “if someone tried to hurt Duncan.”

  Twelve-year-old boys think themselves nearly invincible, Berdie thought. The boy’s bravado reminded her of her Nick when he was their age.

  “I’m sure your little brothers would appreciate your care for them. But, tell me boys”—she slightly
dipped her chin— “why, exactly, are you here?”

  “Oh.” Milton spoke with vim. “This is Bobby.” He pointed to the blond-haired, blue-eyed lad Berdie hadn’t recognized. “He’s new.”

  “A blow-in,” Kevin confirmed in a less than cordial way. “We said we’d show him where they found the body.”

  The young man in question shook his head affirmatively.

  “Where they found a skeleton,” Berdie corrected. “Welcome to Aidan Kirkwood, Bobby.” Berdie knew a redirection of the conversation was in order.

  “Thanks.” He smiled.

  “I’m Mrs. Elliott. My husband’s the vicar here.”

  “Oh.” Bobby’s face turned lightly pink. “We don’t go to church much.”

  “You really must come to a Sunday service.” Berdie’s tone was welcoming. “We’ve great youth activities.” She looked at Milton. “It’s nice of you to show your new friend round the village. But aren’t you supposed to be in school?”

  “We are in school,” Kevin grunted.

  “Science outing.” Milton nodded toward the wood. “We’re identifying wildflowers.”

  “Oh?” Berdie looked at the flora nearby. “What have you boys identified then?”

  Kevin pointed to a plant right by the overturned earth. “That’s a Lenten rose. Except the bloom’s gone now.”

  “It has a purple one, bloom that is.” Milton announced it with a certain amount of pride.

  “It’s an evergreen.” Bobby leant his voice to the newly gained flora knowledge being espoused. “I think.”

  Milton shook his head fervidly. “Yeah, it is.”

  “Evergreen,” Berdie repeated.

  A loud voice boomed from within the woods.

  “It’s Dud Head,” Kevin alerted.

  Bobby, Milton, and Kevin took to scribbling madly on their notepads.

  A portly man, bald as a baby’s bottom and sporting a well-trimmed beard, appeared. Encircled by several students with notepads and pens, he espied Berdie and the three boys.

  “They haven’t been into mischief, have they?” he called cheerfully to Berdie.

  “Look, Mr. Dudham”—Kevin spoke before Berdie could respond—“a Lenten rose.” He pointed to the plant.

  The man and his entourage came and looked at the plant. “Well done, Kevin.” Mr. Dudham smiled.