All Hallows Dead (Berdie Elliott Mysteries)

by Marilyn Leach

“Accidents are a part of life, Berdie,” Hugh argued. “It’s unfortunate, but as much as I disagree with the DCI’s ethics, he has a point. It’s an ancient building, probably full of pitfalls and all kinds of dangers.”

  “Even so,” Berdie returned a bit more forcefully than was prudent.

  Lillie placed her hand against her hip. “How about the pub? I’m hungry. Anyone else?”

  Loren looked towards the Watergate. “Sounds a grand idea, and perhaps a short stroll after.”

  “I can smell meat pie from here.” Hugh rubbed his hands together. “What do you say, love?”

  Berdie knew they were trying to move on from the situation at hand, make things a bit lighter. And deep down, she appreciated them for it.

  “Yes, some tasty food could fill a spot.”

  “There it is. The pub awaits,” Loren announced.

  Berdie smiled. But inside, her sense of justice wouldn’t let her rest. Somehow, she would get to the bottom of this accident and that pea of truth would be found out. Her only problem? How could she possibly go about it here in Criswell?

  ****

  Berdie welcomed the sight of warm lamp light that filled the windows of Bell Tower Inn. It showered the familiar close she walked on with a pale glow.

  She fingered the just purchased box of Fruit Jammies she held. Though she was still full, Hugh did enjoy one with his evening cup of tea. This little prize of fruit-stuffed shortbreads would please him.

  Plus, her foray to the nearby family owned green grocer netted her more than biscuits. There was plenty of gossip about today’s events as well.

  “The deceased workman was Neville Oakes, certified electrician, licensed contractor, a sparks. Ancient buildings were something of a specialty for him. He knew his onions,” the shop owner had announced to Berdie and a couple others.

  From conversations that bounced about in the shop, the repair was being conducted in the side chapel of the church where Mr. Oakes and his assistant were installing some new wall sconces. Neville was about his business when things went pear-shaped. “Routine work,” everyone said.

  “Routine work,” Berdie mumbled walking along. “Well, the situation did not turn out routine.” She shook her head. I wish there was something I could do to help matters.

  The hotel entrance was brightly lit as Berdie made her way into reception.

  “Mrs. Elliott,” the owl-eyed receptionist greeted. “There’s someone here to see you.” Though his ears were unavoidably large, his voice was remarkably subdued. He nodded toward the sitting room.

  “Someone to see me?”

  “I told him Reverend Elliott was available, but he said he wanted to speak with you and could he wait for your return.” He leaned closer to Berdie. “It’s Mr. Cavendish, from the big house.”

  “Indeed?” Berdie smiled. “Thank you.” She eyed his lapel pin that displayed his name, “Sydney.”

  Still holding her Jammies, she took the few steps necessary to the sitting room wondering why Edward didn’t just ring her up. He had obviously cut short his London trip. And why wouldn’t he speak to Hugh?

  “Edward?” Berdie addressed him after entering the sitting room where he stood near a window. “This is a surprise.”

  “Is it?” He wore business attire. “Can we talk here privately?”

  Berdie considered the large-eared man in reception. She laid her index finger upon her lips and gently closed the sitting room door. “Why the seclusion?” she asked at the bottom of her voice.

  Edward pulled a curtain cross the window facing the close. “Small villages are goldfish bowls. And I want to keep my feet dry over this.”

  “Keep your feet dry over what?”

  Edward fingered a button on his jacket. “You know about Criswell’s events today?”

  “As you said, a goldfish bowl.”

  His lips tightened. “I don’t like all this mess.” His low tone was rough. “I don’t like it at all.”

  “I should think not. Terrible thing.”

  “The police are calling it an industrial accident. Tell me Berdie, what are your gut instincts on the situation?”

  Berdie felt a lively twitch in her intuitive senses. “If you’re asking me if I think today’s event was an accident, I’d have to say I don’t think so.”

  “Why?” Edward riveted his intense eyes on her.

  “Why?” Berdie laid out her puzzle pieces. “First, there’s two restoration projects on the church, one in the bell tower, one in a side chapel, years apart, and yet a death occurs in each case. That isn’t the usual way of things. Second, I can’t speak to the first fellow’s death, but from what I’ve heard about your workman, Mr. Oakes, he was well trained, and a highly skilled professional.”

  “He was recommended, even won awards, for his work on vintage buildings.”

  “You see?” Berdie raised her brows but kept her voice down. “And, somehow this wild talk about an avenging ghost from the past creeping about in the church draws some nutcases. But, for most people it creates a kind of warning-off mentality.” She put her free hand on her hip. “And then there’s the question of timing. Why did this so-called accident happen on one of the few days you weren’t about the place?”

  Edward thumped his hand against a nearby table. “Exactly! My thoughts exactly. Something stinks to high heaven, and I want to roust it out.”

  Berdie was now in full flow. “I reckon someone, for some unknown reason, is keen for St. Baldred’s to be completely discredited. In fact, so keen that two people’s lives have been taken for it to happen. But why?”

  “I want you to find out.”

  Berdie nearly dropped her biscuits. “Me?”

  Edward pointed an index finger toward her. “You were one of my very best investigators when you worked at the paper, and you obviously still are. Besides, being a servant of the church now, you have a vested interest.” He pulled his shoulders back. “Have you had the pleasure of meeting our unscrupulous DCI Underwood?”

  Berdie tipped her head. “Is that his name? Yes, we bumped into one another today at the church.”

  “Well then you know I can’t rely on him to do a proper job of it.”

  Everything in Berdie wanted to cry, Yes, I’m in, but this was a kind of holiday, and the village of Criswell was new territory. “Edward, I’m only here for the length of the church conference. I’ve little to no standing in this community. I can’t just flash my newspaper ID anymore and bullet questions at people.” She tapped the boxed treats for her husband against her thigh. “And then there’s Hugh.”

  “Berdie,” Edward said with a headmaster’s rigor, “do you want to probe to the bottom of these events and see justice done?”

  “Of course. You know I do.”

  “Then time, ways, and means, these things mean little to you when you shakedown the truth. And I know you well enough to recognize that bringing your Hugh round is certainly within your ability.”

  Edward Cavendish was absolutely right. Nothing stood in her way, especially when it involved the loss of a human life. “All right, Edward. I’m giving you a qualified yes. I’ve got to talk with Hugh.”

  “I know you’ll be discreet, Berdie.”

  “And Lillie. She’s trustworthy, and I’m going to need a little help.”

  He nodded. “And I’ll do whatever I can to assist, but I must appear to be uninvolved. Now, on the matter of your fee...”

  “No,” Berdie quipped. “Being hired for money always seems to muddy the waters when friendships are involved, and then there’s the fact I’m involved in the church. But, if you’d like to make a gift to St. Aidan of the Wood’s Parish Church Youth Project, I’m sure it wouldn’t be turned down.”

  “Consider it done.”

  “Well, I’ll discreetly get to work on things right away, assuming Hugh’s approval.”

  For the first time this evening, Edward smiled, his eyes warmed, and the strain of a difficult day that had painted his stern face eased.

 
; “Let me ask you one thing before you go, Edward. The church, St. Baldred’s, it has no regular services, no assigned priest, correct? Yet it has a verger.”

  “We needed a custodian of sorts to look after the place, for tours, the rare public event, keeping it tidy, that kind of thing.”

  “Do you trust him, your verger?”

  He paused. “Berdie, when it comes to a possible crime being committed, is there anyone you trust?” Edward shrugged a shoulder. “He seems all right, but Meg apparently thinks he’s less than satisfactory. But you’d have to speak to her about that.”

  “I will then.”

  Edward wrote on the back of a small card and handed it to Berdie. “My private mobile phone number.”

  She put it in her trouser pocket.

  Edward smoothed his tie. “That’s me done then. I’m off back to London.”

  “Things to sort there?”

  “You’ve no idea.” He stepped to the sitting room door and stopped. “Thank you, Berdie. The integrity of Criswell Abbey and St. Baldred’s is in your hands. Keep me informed.”

  “Yes.” Berdie felt her heart beat quicken. It’s all in my hands.

  “Oh, and I know you’ll convince Hugh. Still, good luck.”

  “It’s more about grace than luck,” Berdie corrected.

  Edward tipped his head toward her, opened the door, and stepped into reception.

  “God go with you,” Berdie called after him.

  She waited a decent interval, then exited the sitting room and stopped at the kettle to get Hugh a cup of tea. She was especially careful to choose a happy-colored cup and saucer. Then she made way to the stairwell with no apparent notice from Sydney in reception.

  Each step upward on the stairs was a contemplation of how to approach her waiting husband: straight out, or slowly-slowly-catch-the-monkey, off hand, or perhaps determined? “What I need,” she said to the One who always hears, “is Divine grace for my words to go down well with this warming cup of tea, however it’s done.”

  Back in the room, Berdie got Hugh settled in with his brew and biscuits, with which he was delighted. She silently muted the lighting that cast a gentle glimmer over the old world charm of their bedroom. Hugh sat in a gracious leather chair. Berdie plumped up a knitted cushion and placed it behind Hugh’s back. She opened the large bedroom window and a whoosh of evening air breathed a light chill into the room, Then, she sat in a cream-colored upholstered chair, a butler tray table perched between her and Hugh. And all the while, she spoke not a word.

  The tiny hearth of the fireplace made everything feel that much cozier. Hugh smoothed the lapel of his night robe, then took a sip of tea.

  Berdie lightly rubbed a hand over the arm of her chair. “Lovely night.” There was a lingering moment of silence as she pondered just how to begin.

  “All right, Berdie.” Hugh took a deep breath. “Something’s on your mind, and I think I know what it may be.” Hugh’s tea cup clattered as he placed it in the accompanying saucer. “Let’s not go round the houses.”

  Berdie drew a deep breath. “Edward visited this evening, in the sitting room.”

  “Ah.” Hugh nibbled on a biscuit. “And how is he?”

  “Quite upset.”

  “Yes, I should think he is.”

  Berdie decided to get straight to it. “He thinks, as I do, that something, or rather, someone malicious is at work over at St. Baldred’s. He has no faith in local law to sort the matter.”

  Hugh’s left eyebrow rose, an alarm to Berdie that this did not sit well with him. “Let me guess how your conversation with him went from there.” He tapped his finger on the saucer. “You, as his past employee at the newspaper, were excellent in your undercover work. You’re ethically sound and discreet. He, being a sort of lord of the manor, doesn’t want his hands dirtied in publicly digging through what could be a nasty situation. That’s where you come into the picture. How am I doing so far?”

  Berdie sat on the edge of her chair. “I know we’re on holiday, Hugh. Well, not really on holiday, but enjoying a bit of time away, and I do appreciate that.” She made her voice light. “Are you enjoying your biscuits, by the way?”

  Hugh stared at her. “Berdie, you won’t get round me that way.”

  She glanced at the floor. “No.” Berdie set her eyes back on Hugh. “I thought I might give it a try.”

  A grin crept upon Hugh’s lips, and he shook his head. “I know you want to help Edward, love. It’s very noble of you. And you thrive on doing this kind of work. But why doesn’t he just hire a private investigator from London?”

  Berdie leaned forward. “Because I’m here. But more to the point, he trusts me.”

  Hugh took a sip of tea. “What do you expect to find in your rummaging?”

  “Quite honestly, I have no idea.”

  Hugh looked pensive. “I am in classes all day, but I certainly relish our evenings together. Still, it’s odd that these unsettling events are happening at the same time that we’re here. If you ask me, I believe you’re most likely on a hiding to nothing anyway.”

  “So you agree I can pursue helping Edward?”

  He paused. “I agree to this. Three days only and if you’ve not come up with anything solid or the whole affair proves to be entirely accidental, you stop.”

  Berdie worked to keep her excitement contained. “That seems fair enough. And if I do have enough to suggest it wasn’t accidental?”

  Hugh tipped his head to the side. “Ask me that question again in three days.”

  Berdie jumped from her chair and wrapped her arms around Hugh, nearly spilling his tea. “I’ll be extremely diplomatic and make a point to keep evenings clear. You are a generous man.”

  Hugh wiped a drop of tea from his hand. “We’ll see how generous you think I am in three days’ time.”

  4

  “This plan of mine will work brilliantly,” Berdie whispered to Lillie whilst the shop assistant put pencils, colored chalks, and an ample sketchpad into a carrier bag that read Criswell Art Gallery and Supplies.

  “Oh, yes?” Lillie snipped.

  The morning sun poured through the front window making art works that covered the walls come alive, and the little display of art materials take on a certain glow.

  “Thank you,” Berdie said to the assistant.

  The cheerful young lady dropped a small paper into the bag. “I’d love to see your work when you have something finished.”

  “Of course.” Berdie tried to sound very sure of herself.

  “Our annual silent auction is next week, and we need more art entries,” the cheerful woman informed. “It’s at the Watergate. We’re raising money for St. Baldred’s to get a new bell. I’ve included the information with your supplies.”

  “How kind.” Berdie took the bag. “Isn’t that fantastic, Lillie? You can enter some of your work.”

  “Really, Berdie, this takes the biscuit.” Lillie was already half way to the door.

  Berdie caught up. “Keep your voice down.”

  “I can’t imagine where you get some of your ideas.”

  “I remembered seeing the shop yesterday. It gave birth to a very clever plan.”

  “It won’t work.”

  The shop bell clattered as Berdie closed the door behind her and Lillie. “Of course it will work. You took art at university.”

  “One class in life drawing hardly qualifies me as an artist. Besides, everything I drew turned out looking a horse.”

  “You’re one art class ahead of me.” Berdie stopped and looked about the High Street, glimpsing St. Baldred’s forbidding tape. Oh, bother.

  “Where did you come up with this cock and bull story anyway?”

  Berdie took Lillie’s arm. “Lillie, this is important. Now, I spoke to Edward about my idea this morning, and he thinks it’s very good cover. It won’t be the first time artists have sketched the interior of the church.”

  “Are we really going to do artwork?”

  “Not so
much me as you.”

  Lillie pulled her arm away. “Oh, great.”

  “We’ve got to have something to show for the time we’ll be spending there. And, you heard what the woman in there said. She’s interested in seeing your work displayed at the art auction.”

  “That’s supposed to make me feel better? Honestly, Berdie.”

  Berdie grinned. “Well, you never know. It’s a good cause.”

  “It’ll look like a horse, whatever I draw.” Lillie’s cheeks flushed. “And what about you? Nosing about the place I presume?”

  “If someone asks, I’m an observer of your style. Actually, yes, a good look round is what I’ll be up to.”

  Lillie pointed down the street and brightened. “Look, we can’t do it after all. The church is still taped off by the police.”

  “Yes, I noticed that a moment ago. So, Leonardo, we forego the church for a little while and make our way to the pub.”

  Lillie finally smiled. “Now, that idea I do like.”

  Berdie and her erstwhile art teacher crossed the road.

  “I could do some of their special toast and jam.” Lillie stopped. “We’re not going to draw in there.”

  “We’re going to make conversation with the locals.” Berdie put her hand ’round Lillie’s elbow and started the march forward again. “Have your toast, but remember we’re gathering information. The scene of the crime is the best beginning. But obviously, that can’t happen yet. Still, there’s a bit of sunshine about, and we’ll make hay whilst the sun shines, as they say.” She released Lillie’s arm and gave her the bag of art goods.

  Just steps away from the pub’s entrance, Berdie noticed Edward’s sister, Meg, coming just past the yews on the garden path from the church. “Lillie, I see our first hay making opportunity approaching.”

  “What?”

  “Doctor, er, Meg, good morning.” Berdie stepped toward the rushing woman on the grass verge.

  “Is it?” She brushed her hand several times over her suit coat and ran a finger round her collar. “It’s quite damp in there. Needs airing.”

  Lillie eyed the police tape. “You went in the church?”

  Meg halted but ignored the question. “Really, I’ve got to get along to the conference. It’s only thirty minutes until my first lecture.”