Consecrated Crime: A Rev Jessamy Ward Mystery (Isle Of Wesberrey Book 5)

by Penelope Cress

  There were two crew members. Captain Jack Shipton, whose name and facial hair had, I fantasised, determined his career path. A salty old sea dog who had crossed the equator in merchant ships for longer than most of us on board had been alive. Efficient police probing identified that he hated being relegated to babysitting ‘posh idiots’ on fancy catamarans, or as he called them ‘condomarans’, but the pay was good, and he was more or less his own boss.

  Next to the captain sat Archie Baldwin, Jamaican native and veteran of the Miami based cruise liner industry, though he was only in his late twenties. His jeans were so tight I had serious concerns about his future ability to have children. Fertility issues aside, I suspected he would have no trouble keeping the women happy. This unofficial part of his job description was as important it seemed as his cooking and deckhand duties. Archie had a cheeky charm, an electric smile, and spent hours exercising to perfect the rest of his appeal. And he would need to keep fit to entertain the ladies on this passenger list.

  Celeste Huntsford, the French CEO of the Aurora Agency, oozed Parisian style. She was the creative mastermind behind the marketing agency that had chartered the Norma Jean for the Regatta as a team-building activity for her executive team. Younger than her husband, Steve Huntsford, who was comforting her on the sofa, Celeste, though in her mid-fifties, was a woman in her prime. And she knew it. The younger women gathered to her side faded into her shadow.

  Even the ebullient Sweetpea Smythe with her fuchsia pink hair and clashing floral fashion paled next to her manager. Like Celeste, she was a creative and had the wacky job title of Head of Divine Inspiration. She answered the inspector’s questions with a delicate Yorkshire accent. Hailing originally from Hebden Bridge, she studied art and design at the Glasgow School of Art, because she was a huge Rennie Mackintosh fan, but found she had a flair for business and forged a path into corporate marketing for FTSE 500 companies before finally being headhunted by Celeste to join their team two years ago.

  Seated at the end of the sofa was Jenny Brown. Like Sweetpea, I would place her in her mid-to-late twenties, possibly early thirties. It’s so hard to tell. But that was where the similarities ended. Jenny, Head of Making Magic, aka Operations, was an impeccably dressed mixed-race woman with incredible posture. She perched on the edge of the seat as if anchored to the bottom of the sea by a steel pole. Her face remained expressionless during the initial interview. Occasionally, she would take a quick breath through her nose to re-inflate and restore her inner balance. With fresh oxygen drawn, her shoulders would relax, and she’d cast her green-eyed gaze around the room, like a cat ready to pounce. She was fascinating to watch.

  They all were. Especially the money man, Steve Huntsford. If my sister wasn’t so loved up, Steve was exactly the type of man she would target. A ridiculously attractive silver fox, Steve had made his fortune working in North Sea oil. Originally from the Scottish fishing town of Fraserburgh, he spoke of his natural respect for the sea and how heartbroken he was to lose another ‘family’ member to her cruel embrace.

  “We are all like family at Aurora. Ellen était notre petite fille. Elle est notre bébé.” Celeste crumbled onto her husband’s shoulder.

  Dave pressed ahead. “I understand this is tragic news. I have to ask who first noticed Miss Findlay was missing this morning?”

  “That would be me, Inspector.” Jenny raised her hand. “I knocked on her cabin on the way to breakfast. When she didn’t answer, I tried the door.”

  Dave looked up from his black notepad. “And you found her bed empty. Why didn’t you raise the alarm, Miss…” he flipped back through the pages and stabbed his pencil down on an earlier entry, “Brown?”

  “Because?” Jenny looked to the others for backup. “I thought she was already in the saloon or perhaps she had gone for a walk or…”

  “Okay. Thank you, Miss Brown. And none of you saw Miss Findlay after you all retired following an early supper and drinks on deck?”

  “We went straight to bed. Celeste had a headache.”

  “Mon amour is correct, Inspector.” Celeste smoothed away her tears. “The evening belongs to the young n'est-ce pas.”

  “Indeed. So you didn’t stay up to watch the fireworks?” They all shook their heads. Dave flipped the notebook shut. “The forensics team will be here shortly. We will need to find you all alternative accommodation whilst they process the scene. PC Taylor, we may need to find a secure hotel in Oysterhaven. All the local ones will be full because of the Regatta.” PC Taylor nodded.

  “Inspector, might I make a quick call?” Steve wrangled his way out from under his wife and stepped towards the front. “I have a friend who lives on Wesberrey. I think she will have room to spare.”

  “Oh, really? And whom would that be?”

  “Lady Arabella Somerstone. Her late husband Gordon and I were members of the same lodge.” Steve pulled on his shirt cuff, exposing a bright golden and blue enamel cufflink bearing the Freemason’s emblem of a compass and set square. The inspector narrowed his eyes and acknowledged the magical cufflinks with a nod. Steve pulled back his hand, reached into his trouser pocket to get his phone, and then strolled to the galley to make the call.

  A short time later, PC Taylor escorted the assembled passengers and crew onto dry land to await a horse-drawn taxi to take them to Bridewell Manor. As they gathered their immediate belongings, Inspector Lovington reminded them all that no one could leave the island.

  Bus Stop

  “Did you get anything?” Dave asked.

  “Not a thing!” I slid off the barstool like a drunk sea lion. Lady-like, as always. “I don’t suppose you would let me take a sneaky peak in her cabin?”

  Dave caught my arm as I steadied myself. “Jess, that would be a total breach of protocol.”

  “Would your answer be different if I had masonic cufflinks?”

  Dave screwed up his moustache-edged mouth. “You are infuriating. That was a practical solution to a…” I called in my best puppy-dog expression. “Okay, you win. Come with me. Gloves on.”

  I whipped the rubbery blue ball from my pocket. “Gloves on.”

  I didn’t know if gloves would hinder my fledgeling abilities. I didn’t know how any of this worked. But I knew better than to tamper with evidence before the forensic team had processed it. Hard science would stand up in court; the voices in my head would not.

  I followed Dave along the gangway. The Norma Jean was fitted out with glossy wood panels and gleaming chrome fittings. It was all very luxurious but felt claustrophobic to me. I found it hard to believe that no one heard or saw anything. Everyone and everything lived on top of each other.

  “Do you know which cabin was hers?”

  “‘Bus Stop’ I believe.” Dave checked in his notebook. “They are all named after Marilyn Monroe movies.”

  “Wasn’t that her last film?”

  Dave paused. “No, that was ‘Something’s Gotta Give’. She didn’t finish it. So technically her last film would be ‘The Misfits’.”

  “Ah, okay. You are a walking Wikipedia.”

  “No, just a huge Marilyn Monroe fan.” Well, that explains why you are attracted to my sister. “Here we are.”

  The inside of Ellen’s cabin had little to tell us on the surface. Her bedsheets were as smooth and tight as a Hollywood facelift. Was that a clue to her ability to make hospital corners? Or had Archie done that as part of his more domestic chores? There was scant evidence that she had stayed there at all. Her clothes were still in her suitcase on a stand. She either didn’t have the time or inclination to hang them up or transfer them to the drawers provided. When I am staying somewhere, I live out of my suitcase, so I couldn’t judge her for that. However, someone so cavalier about hanging up their dresses is unlikely to give so much attention to their folded sheets. There was an open silver laptop charging on the desk. Toiletries and makeup sat snugly in a cosmetics bag in the ensuite bathroom. And a dog-eared copy of Dale Carnegie’s How to Win Friends and Infl
uence People lay on a shelf beside the bed. It was a well-thumbed volume, with mini post-its and pencil markings. It was the only really personal item in the room. Not much to show us who Ellen was or why she died.

  “Try not to disturb anything.” Dave stood back in the doorway to give me some room.

  “I’m not sure how this all works. It’s all very new to me.”

  “I know, Cindy explained. I’ll admit I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around it all, but your aunt has a gift and I respect her a lot.”

  “Yup, that’s about where I am with it all, too. Can I try the laptop?” I moved the mouse pad with my gloved finger. A message appeared on the screen. “Darn, it’s locked.”

  “Maybe you can work out the password? Is she still in your head?”

  “I don’t think so. Not like she was in the hospital. Can I sit down?” Dave agreed, and I pulled out the chair in front of the desk, sat down, and closed my eyes. “It’s numeric. No, letters, then numbers. Like… like someone’s initials and date of birth.”

  The heat of Dave’s body told me he had moved closer. “Are they her initials? E.F.? Might be her D.O.B. People really shouldn’t do that.”

  “No, not hers. I don’t think so… It’s not family either. Someone she admires, maybe? I just can’t see any more.”

  “You are doing great. Cindy said you have to have faith.”

  “Did she now.” I have faith, just not in any of this. “Maybe you should call her in. I feel tired. I don’t think any of this helps.”

  “It does. I can get the tech guys to work out the password. Maybe you are closer to the answer than you think.”

  I pushed back the chair and worked my way around the rest of the room. “There is nothing else. Don’t you think it looks like she didn’t sleep here? I mean at all.”

  “Well, they boarded two days ago, so presumably she spent at least one night here.”

  “Unless she slept somewhere else? Perhaps she died on the first night and they are all covering it up? Or Archie provides an excellent turndown service.”

  Dave grinned “I think Archie prides himself on his excellent turndown service.” We both giggled. “You have a wicked sense of humour for a woman of the cloth, Reverend Ward. Shall we take a quick tour of the yacht before the forensics team gets here?”

  “Lead the way, Inspector.”

  ✽✽✽

  My gift gave me no further insights. Dave received a call to warn him that the forensics team had arrived on the ferry, and I made my escape to Zuzu’s apartment. This was a police matter, and I had done all I felt able to do to help. The yacht party had decamped to Bridewell Manor, and there were no more images or voices in my head.

  Zuzu has a stunning new Gaggia coffee machine and the smell of freshly roasted Columbian and the comforting sound of spurting boiling water was all I could focus on.

  “Here, you’ve earned this. Let’s drink on the balcony.” Zuzu wedged herself in the open gap and pushed back the sliding glass door with her bottom, two steaming cups of coffee in her hands.

  The view from their apartment was glorious. I wanted to let the afternoon sun ease my troubled spirit, but my mind wouldn’t rest. Ellen’s voice was like a distinct echo disappearing in the caverns of time. I tried to pick her out, but with every minute she grew fainter and fainter. I wasn’t sure it was even her voice anymore. I often use my date of birth as my password, perhaps I guessed that detail. Maybe it wasn’t a message from Ellen at all. Was I imposing my thoughts onto hers - if hers were ever really there? I was so sure this morning, but now?

  “Well, you got her name right.” Zuzu was enjoying this. “And we both worked out the Norma Jean connection. Jessie, explain that if it wasn’t because we are gifted, eh? You can’t. You can’t deny any of it.”

  “The Baron is very accepting of all this mumbo-jumbo; I mean for a police officer.”

  “Yes, strange that. He is wonderfully enigmatic sometimes. He never mentioned his Marilyn fetish. I can work wonders with that.”

  “I really don’t want to know, Sis. Okay? Let’s change the subject. Barbara's wedding dress. What can you tell me?”

  “We’re all booked into Scissor Sisters for a complete makeover on Friday. Put that in your diary right away.” Zuzu pointed directions at my phone. “Barbara didn’t want a hen party, so we are all going to gather at the hairdressers and ambush her.” This is the first time I’m hearing about this plan! “Don’t worry. Jessie! It’s all going to be very gentile and dignified. Rosie’s doing some snacks and stuff. Then the twins will style her on the big day. I can’t tell you much about the dress except that it’s lacy and off-white and she’s bought some amazing earrings off Etsy. Custom-made. She is going to look beautiful.”

  “I’m sure she is. And catering for the reception?”

  “Rosie is all over that, too. We can’t have Phil cooking for his own wedding.”

  “No, of course not. Well, I know Barbara arranged the flowers. I spoke to the florist yesterday. She’ll be in the church first thing Saturday morning. And the leaflets for the service arrived yesterday. Rosemary has been practising the wedding march and Lawrence has tamed the melodicas. The school choir was in fine voice last week. If the weather is like this, it will be perfect.”

  I took a sip from my cup and offered a brief prayer for the happy couple.

  No more dead bodies, please.

  Eggy Soldiers

  “How did your Monday go?” Sam reached over to refill my glass with a fruity chardonnay.

  “Much the same as usual. If you take out the talking to dead people part.” I folded my legs up onto the couch and positioned my rear tight into the corner to get the best possible position for a lengthy gossip.

  “Well, I am honoured you invited me over after the day you have had. You must be knackered after that early start.”

  “Well, you were up too.” I pointed out. “I just wanted to see what you thought of it all. I’m not sure I know what to make of it.”

  “Which bit? Dishy Dave being so unscientific about everything or you turning into the kid from the Sixth Sense.” Sam pulled up a cushion over her face, lowered it to her nose, and hissed, “I see dead people.”

  “Haha, very funny.” I grabbed the cushion and threw it across the room. “Dave is a complex creature. Zuzu is besotted.” I sighed.

  “You sound jealous, which is just plain greedy, if you ask me. You have a handsome admirer in Lawrence.”

  “I do. He is really sweet. I declare my heart skips a beat when I hear his name.” Why have I come over all Southern Belle?

  “Why Miss Ward, I do believe you’re blushing!” Sam grinned over the top of her glass. She raised a flamboyant hand to her forehead, faking a swoon. “Lawrence! Lawrence! Lawrence and Jessie sitting in a tree, K.I.S.S.-”

  “I.N.G. yeah, yeah, yeah.” I waved the conversation on with my free hand. “At least another death means you’ll get some booty time with Leo Peasbody.”

  Sam’s grin caved. “No, I won’t. The coroner took Ellen Findlay away this afternoon.”

  “Look, I know it’s none of my business, but I’m sure Leo would want more of a proper relationship. I know you do, despite all this bravado.”

  “He has his family and the business.”

  “Sam, his sons are full-grown men. Why don’t you call him - we could all go on a double date?”

  My best friend traced her finger along the rim of her glass. I reached across and patted her foot. Not the greatest show of affection, but it was the nearest part of her to me at that moment.

  “What’s up? I think the two Ls will get on. And we’ve done nothing nice together since I moved here. It’ll be fun. No pressure.”

  “The two Ls?” Sam rubbed her eyes. It was late, and she had been up even earlier than me.

  “Leo and Lawrence.”

  “Ah, yes. Sorry. I must be more tired than I thought. I blame the wine.”

  “Hey, why don’t you kip here for the night? Mum went to bed ho
urs ago. You have your choice of bedrooms. I recommend Rosie’s old room. It’s quaint if you like chintz.”

  “Would you mind?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Well, in that case, let’s have another glass.”

  ✽✽✽

  Tuesday morning shone through the kitchen window. Is it acceptable to wear sunglasses for breakfast? Earplugs would be good too. Mum was in full Snow White mode.

  “Sam’s just taking a shower.” she beamed. “Looks like you both had a long night. Coffee?”

  I cracked one eye open. “Make mine a double.” I think I’ve eaten Hugo’s cat litter.

  Talk of the black devil. My squinty eye caught the end of his tail escaping through the cat flap. Probably off to see his girlfriend, a sleek white and tortoiseshell kitten Luke had named Paloma.

  “Mum, d’ya think we will come home one day to a cupboard full of fluffy mini Hugos?”

  Mum put out a coaster for my coffee and sat opposite me. “No, they’re just good friends. I think he’s too old for that type of shenanigans.”

  I know how he feels.

  “It’s nice to have company for breakfast. The house has been quiet of late.”

  “Mum, you had Cindy and Dave here yesterday. It’s not too late, you know, to change your mind. You don’t need to buy the cottage. Stay here. There’s plenty of room.”

  “We both need our space. You’ll just miss having me acting as housekeeper.”

  This was true, but I would miss her company more. And her potential new home, whilst extremely picturesque, was on a remote part of the island. “Just think, you could use all that money to travel the world first-class if you wanted.”

  “I could. Ah, Sam, perfect timing; I’ll take your eggs out of the pan.”

  Sam was too squirrel-tailed for a morning after the night before.