I stared at Raj with my mouth hanging open. He shook his head and went back into the kitchen. A moment later he came out with the broom and a dustpan and started to sweep.
I took the broom from his hand. “Let me, Raj. It’s my fault this happened.”
He didn’t release his hold on the broom. “She was the one who chose to throw that vase, not you. Do not take responsibility for things you have not done, Fiona. It may get you into trouble in the future.”
“All right,” I muttered, unsure what he meant. “But at least let me sweep. It will make me feel better to be helpful.”
One of the old men held up his empty pint glass, indicating that he was ready for another. Raj relented. “All right.” He let go of the broom and walked over to Popeye and his cronies to get their next round of drink orders.
By the time Raj finished serving the men, I had the mess cleaned up. I squatted on the floor, cleaning up the last of the water with a paper towel I had found behind the bar. My knees cracked as I stood.
Raj shook his head. “Poor Claudia. The woman is a tortured soul. I wish I could help her more than I already have, but I don’t know what more I can do as long as she remains married to Remy. There isn’t much anyone can do until she leaves him.”
I threw the paper towel away in the wastebasket behind the bar. “From what I’ve heard, Remy is not a nice guy. He’s not kind to anyone, even to his wife and family. Why is she defending him?”
Raj shook his head sadly. “Why does anyone defend someone who hurts them? Because they’re scared. Scared to be alone. Scared to be without the person they love, no matter how awful that person might be. Scared of the unknown. It’s very sad. I have seen glimpses of Claudia, what she could be. I know she could stand on her own two feet if she was just willing to trust herself and try.” He shook his head again. “But until she trusts herself enough to do so, she never will.”
I frowned. My previous relationship had not been abusive, but I had been taken for granted by my ex-fiancé. Just like Claudia, I had been too afraid to leave the man I loved. How could I judge her, when in a way I had been doing the same thing for years? My sympathy for the woman grew despite the fact that she had ruined a bouquet of my most beautiful sunflowers. Flowers could be replaced; people could not.
“Please do not take to heart what Claudia has done. She was upset and overwhelmed. I know that she is a good person despite who her husband is. That’s why I gave her a job at the laundromat when I bought the Twisted Fox and I needed more help at my old business. It’s a good situation for her because I let her bring Byron with her to work.”
“That’s very kind of you, Raj.” I picked up the takeaway bag of food. “I should take this to my sister. She must be starving now and will be wondering what happened to me.” Looking back at Raj, I asked, “What do you think Remy and Minister MacCullen were fighting about down by the docks that day, Raj?”
He shook his head. “I don’t have the faintest clue, Fiona. Not the faintest.”
Chapter Twenty-One
I decided to the close the flower shop at four when Isla left for her waitress training. We hadn’t had a single customer all day, and it seemed pointless to sit around feeling depressed about what a sad beginning my new business was having when I could be asking questions about the minister’s death.
The more I thought about how the minister had died, the more I thought it was related to the church. It was the central part of the minister’s life. It had to be related somehow. The church itself was probably the best place for me to learn more, but before I walked to the church, I decided to drop in on Bernice Brennan before she closed up for the day. She had said that I could come see her at her jewelry store anytime, and she might be able to shed more light on the minister before I headed over to the church.
The jewelry store was on a neighboring street just a few doors down from Raj’s laundromat. The shop had a bright-purple front door with a bejeweled knocker. I’d never seen anything like it. The knocker looked like it was covered in diamonds. I knew it couldn’t be the real thing or the knocker would have been stolen long ago.
There was an OPEN sign in the window, and I pushed the door inward. The inside of the showroom was bright. The walls were a soft gray color, and the floor was light-colored hardwood. There were half a dozen large waist-high cases throughout the room holding jewelry. Many of the pieces looked very old.
The front room was empty, but a voice called from the back. “I’ll be right out!”
I wandered around the space while I waited. There was some lovely Celtic jewelry in many of the cases. This would be a good place to shop for the holidays for my mother and sister, I decided, assuming I could afford anything in the store.
A moment later, Bernice appeared from the back room. Her face was red and her eyes were puffy.
I took a step toward her. “Are you all right?”
She shook her head, and a tear appeared in the corner of her eye. “I’m not.”
There was a box of tissues on top of one of the glass cases. I grabbed it and carried it over to her. She took it from my hand and plucked three tissues from the box before setting it aside. “Let’s sit,” she said. “I need to collect myself before any other customers wander in.” She walked across the room to a set of armchairs tucked in the back corner.
I followed Bernice to the chair and sat opposite her. She touched the corner of the tissue to her eye. “I’m so sorry to be such a mess. These last few days have been very hard.”
“Since the minister died?” I asked.
She nodded. “It’s so awful.”
This surprised me. She hadn’t been the least broken up over the minister’s death when she’d visited my shop. In fact, her lack of emotion over his death had surprised me.
“I am very sorry for your loss.’
She squeezed my hand. “I know you are, and I appreciate that.”
I realized that she was the first one I had seen cry over the minister’s passing, and that, more than anything, seemed impossibly sad—that no one was heartbroken over the loss of a fixture in the community.
She wiped tears from her eyes. “I am sorry. What can I help you with?”
I shifted my weight. “Actually, I’m here to talk to you about the minister, if that’s all right. Do you know anyone that was upset with him before he died?”
She frowned. “Minister MacCullen had a strong personality and even stronger opinions. He wasn’t afraid to share either of those with anyone. I think you can attest to that.”
I nodded.
“I have already told you that the church elders were upset with him about the way that he treated you. We will not be the kind of church that turns people away at the door. It was unacceptable.” She frowned. “It grew worse after you left.”
“What do you mean?”
She pursed her lips. “From time to time, the minister has been vocal about his dislike for the MacCallisters and Duncreigan.”
I nodded. I already knew this. It was something I had learned my first week in Scotland when the minister stopped me in the middle of the street and told me just what he thought about them both.
“But after he chased you away, he spoke unkindly about Duncreigan and you in the sermon. He said affiliating with you at all was wrong.”
I placed a hand on my stomach. I felt like I had been punched in the gut. I knew the minister hadn’t liked me, but to say that from the pulpit in the church that my godfather loved was too much.
“Of course, the congregation was aghast by what he said. We all thought very highly of your godfather Ian. He was a good man and loyal to the church, even when he knew that Minister MacCullen didn’t care for him. He died serving his country. Several members of the congregation were so angry that they stood up and walked right out of the service. After the service, the church elders met for an emergency session. We had to decide how to handle it. It seemed to us that the minister had finally crossed the line.”
“What did you
decide to do?”
She folded her hands in her lap. “We called the presbytery. If anyone could straighten the minister out, it would be them.”
I gasped. “The minister was at risk of losing his job because of me?”
She shook her head. “It was unlikely that he would lose it. It takes quite a bit to remove a minister from the pulpit. We just can’t order him to leave, but several church elders, myself included, were so horrified that we called the presbytery, which oversees each parish within its judication within the Church of Scotland, to complain. The presbytery promised to send the minister a letter of warning, and on the next Sunday they would send one of their members to visit our church so that he could report back to the presbytery.”
I winced. I knew the minister must have hated the idea of being watched by his superiors while preaching from the pulpit that he had held for the last twenty years. It must have felt like a terrible insult to him.
“When do you think he would have gotten this letter?”
“Just a few days before he died. The church elders received a copy as well. It was scathing. The presbytery reprimanded Minister MacCullen harshly.”
It was making more and more sense to me why the minister would have stomped into my shop the evening before he died and left me that threatening note. He was blaming me for his dispute with the church elders. Part of me wished that I had never tried to go to the church that morning. If I hadn’t tried, would the minister still be alive? Was that small action what had set all of this in motion? I pushed those thoughts aside.
Bernice must have read my mind, because she reached across the gap between us and squeezed my hand with her bejeweled one. “We at the church know this isn’t your fault. No one there is blaming you for the minister’s death, anyway.’
I felt tears gather in the corners of my eyes. “Thank you,” I whispered.
She let go of my hand. “Minister MacCullen had been our pastor for the last twenty-some years, and the truth is, there had been tension between him and the church for the last few years. It seemed that the minister wanted to go a different direction than the rest of the church.”
“Why did the members stay?” I asked.
She smiled. “Loyalty. That church doesn’t belong to the minister. Ministers come and go. It belongs to the people and the community of Bellewick.” Her smile widened into a grin. “And Scots are stubborn people. When we make a decision, we dig our heels in hard.”
I chuckled. “I’ve noticed that. What else was the church upset with the minister over?”
She pressed her lips together again. I thought she wouldn’t answer me, but after a long pause, she finally said, “The chapel ruins.”
“Doesn’t the church want to save them?”
“Of course we do, but we just think that the money the minister was putting toward the ruins could be used for more pressing needs. There are many in our parish who need help. Wouldn’t it be better to help others than put all that money toward the ruins? We wanted him to use half the chapel budget for other ministries. The minister refused. The chapel ruins had become his obsession.”
“Emer Boyd mentioned the chapel project as well,” I said.
Bernice wrinkled her nose at my mention of Emer. Just as quickly, her face cleared. She leaned forward and patted my knee. “I am glad that you came by. It gave me a chance to tell you what I wanted to say when I was in your shop but couldn’t get out before all of that pollen.”
I started to stand. “I should go and let you close up the shop.” My mind was reeling from all that I had learned about the minister, and I want to leave the jeweler so that I had some time to think.
She snapped her fingers. “Don’t leave just yet. I have something for you. I kept meaning to give it to you, and I have just remembered it. I’m so sorry for the delay.”
“Something for me?” I asked. “What do you mean?”
“Wait here,” she directed. “I’ll just be a moment.” She hopped out of her chair and bustled to the back of the shop.
While she was gone, I stood up and walked around the room. I felt agitated and a pressing need to get to the church and learn more about the minister. There was a piece that I was missing. Yes, he didn’t like Duncreigan on the MacCallisters, but there had to be a reason why for him to feel that strongly. As of yet, no one had been able to give a good reason.
Bernice reappeared, holding a long, narrow jewelry box. She set it on the counter before me. “This is for you.”
“For me? I didn’t buy anything.”
“It’s a gift,” she said. “One that I was meant to give you the moment you arrived in the village. I am so sorry that I forgot.”
I stared at the box.
“Open it,” she said.
After a moment of hesitation, I put my hand on the box lid and lifted it. Inside, on a bed of purple velvet, was a necklace. The charm on the end of the necklace was about the size of a British pound and in the shape of a triskele, just like the ones carved into the menhir in my godfather’s garden.
“It’s the finest white gold. When Ian brought it to me, I knew it was special. The craftsmanship is wonderful. I would guess that it’s at least a century old. It’s handmade.” She pointed at the charm. “You can tell by the edges. I was more than happy to polish up this piece for you as he asked.”
“He brought it to you?”
She nodded. “He said that it was to be a gift for his goddaughter.” She paused. “For you. Put it on. Let’s see how it looks.”
With shaky hands, I took the necklace out of the box and opened the clasp. I slipped it around my throat.
Bernice slid a tabletop mirror in front of me. “Oh, it’s the perfect length for you. It’s perfect.”
I stared in the mirror and touched the charm. It was perfect. “Thank you,” I whispered.
She smiled. “Ian is the one who should be thanked.”
“I’ll thank him too,” I said, thinking of the fox.
I left the jeweler with the triskele necklace around my neck and more questions in my head than I had answers.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Like most of the buildings in the village, St. Thomas Church was made of solid granite. Its sharp steeple could be seen from anywhere in the village except the docks, which were at or below sea level, depending on the tide.
The parish church was located on Chapel Street, two blocks over from my flower shop. On my way, I passed the village school, which was just next to St. Thomas’s. I realized it must be the school where Emer Boyd’s husband was head teacher. It was a newer building with a more modern feel. It had a flat roof and large windows, which peered into colorful classrooms. I wondered how the village felt about the modern-looking school. Was this an example of the changing times in the village that some of the villagers feared?
A handful of children played in the playground with an adult looking on, who I assumed was a parent and not a teacher, since school was out for the summer.
The cobblestone flagstones that led to the front door of the church were flat and smooth after being trodden on for hundreds of years. The roof of the church came to a point in an “A” shape just above a large rosette stained-glass window.
The cemetery, right next to the church itself, was beautiful. I could have wandered through the grave markers for hours marveling at how old they were, much older than any I could have come across back in Nashville. I knew that some found cemeteries unsettling, but I found them peaceful. And the one outside the parish church was certainly one of the loveliest I had ever seen. Beyond that, I could see the ruins of the centuries-old chapel. At first glance, it was just crumbling stone, but one remaining wall stood tall. Moss lined the top of it.
I was tempted to go back and explore the ruins, but I had come to the church for one purpose, and that was inside. Besides, I didn’t want to leave Ivanhoe alone at the Climbing Rose for too long. I was still uneasy because someone, it seemed, had entered my shop the night before to leave that scribbled mess
age on my to-do list. I needed to tell the chief inspector about that, but the more time was passing since I’d found the note, the more I didn’t want to share that information with Craig, who would blow it way out of proportion.
I stopped at the church’s front door. It was the very place where the minister had turned me away. I bit the inside of my lip and pushed open the heavy door. I found myself in a small vestibule the size of a walk-in closet. Another large wooden door stood in front of me. I opened that, and I was inside the sanctuary.
The cavernous room smelled like candle wax and decaying flowers. It would be a boon to my business if I got the church as a flower client. I mentally kicked myself. I knew that I shouldn’t be thinking about ways to expand my business when the minister of this great church was lying in the morgue in Aberdeen. How could I use his death as an opportunity to grow my business?
Dappled colored light from the rosette window behind me fell on the hard wooden pews. Unlike the padded chairs that made up the seating at my home church back in Nashville, these pews were not made for comfort; they were made for petition. In a church like this, I could understand how someone could believe in God or fear him.
I believed, but my faith was shaky and confused. Perhaps it was something I would need to spend some more time on. The problem was, it was much easier keeping busy with the everyday things, and even trying to solve murders, than it was deciding what I believed.
However, now that I was the Keeper of a magical garden and my godfather had returned to earth in the form of a fox, I was able to more readily accept things that I might have questioned in the past.
The pulpit from which I knew Minister MacCullen had preached from for the last twenty years was in front me, high off the ground and ornately carved with Christian symbols. I made out a chalice, a lamb, and a triangle. In my mind’s eye, I could see him shooting fire and brimstone from that high perch onto the congregation.
The interior of the church was beautiful in a dark and foreboding way. I could see it as a place where I would want to confess my deepest and darkest misdeeds. Currently, one of those misdeeds that was nagging at the back of my brain was the knowledge that I’d withheld important information from the chief inspector.
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