“How do you do it? Why don’t you have a marching band in your head?”
“Years of training.” Sam stretched across the table to grab a slice of toast. “Thanks, Mrs Ward. It’s just like the old days. Remember how I was always around yours for supper after school.”
“I do indeed. What was the name of your other friend?”
“Karen Clark.” Sam and I answered in unison.
“Lovely girl. Any idea where she is now?” Mum asked as she placed two steaming boiled eggs in front of us.
“No, we lost touch. Her mother passed away, lung cancer, and Karen went to stay with her uncle or something.” Sam crunched down on her heavily buttered toast. Her skinny frame could cope with that level of calorific deliciousness. Why am I surrounded by thin people?
“Perhaps we should try to find her. Get the Wesberrey Angels back together.” Eggy soldiers, delicious part-boiled eggs - still housed in their warm shells - guarded by strips of toasted bread. The perfect start to the day. I sliced open the top of my prey. The golden yolk oozed over the sides. I dragged my finger up the small porcelain cup to catch the drips.
“Jessamy Ward, how old are you?”
“Right now, Mum, I feel like I’m ten again. And it’s wonderful.”
Moving on
A couple of paracetamols later and my headache was in retreat. I had promised Barbara that I would swing by the Cat and Fiddle in the morning to talk through the last-minute arrangements for Saturday. Barbara had offered to come to the vicarage, but I thought it would be best to not confuse the roles of parish secretary and bride-to-be. I had given her and Phil the week off to prepare and a further two weeks off afterwards for the honeymoon. They were going to Venice. Barbara had always wanted to be serenaded on a romantic gondola ride through the canals.
“To think this will soon be my new home? Change is in the air and no mistake, eh, Reverend? We all seem to be moving house, moving on.”
“Have you decided what you are doing with your cottage?” Barbara grew up on Wesberrey and still lived in her parents’ old house, though they had died years ago. This was a momentous life change for her, and I detected she was nervous.
“I am thinking of renting it out. Can’t let… I’m not ready to part with it. Anyway, what if this doesn’t work out, eh? Don’t want to put all my eggs in one basket.”
“You and Phil will waltz into old age together, my friend. You are meant for each other.”
“Ah, that we are, Vicar!” Phil's cockney tones boomed over from behind the bar. “This Saturday, I’m going to be the luckiest man in the ‘ole world. Who knows, maybe we’ll ditch the pub and I’ll start growing prize-winning marrows and radishes.”
“Not married to me you won’t, Phil Vickers. I hate marrows and radishes!” Barbara’s rosy cheeks spread crimson across her face and neck. “He knows that, too,” she whispered. “Reverend, we are doing the right thing? Getting married, that is. I’ve been alone for so long. I’m not sure I will…”
“Live happily ever after?” Like every bride there ever was, Barbara was getting cold feet. “All I know is that I have married many couples and none of them had the bond that you and Phil have. You are the yin to his yang. The Bonnie to his Clyde.”
“Well, that didn’t end too well, did it?” she laughed.
“Er, no. You are the Barbara to his Phil, then. Just destined to be together.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see her fiancé approaching with a tray laden with mid-morning beverages and homemade cake. The wedding cake! Who was making the cake?
Rosie was in charge of the catering, but I had heard no mention of the cake. As soon as I left the Cat and Fiddle, I tried to get my baby sister on her mobile, but it just kept going to voicemail. She’s probably at the shop. I set off across the square.
My family had inherited the old book shop following a bizarre series of events and Rosie, in need of a business opportunity, stepped up to take it on. Whilst she had been drawing up plans for months, she couldn’t officially gain access until they granted probate, and now she spent every waking hour and then some getting everything ready for the launch at the end of June.
I had been so busy I had hardly set foot inside the premises since Ernest handed my sister the keys. Even from across the road, it was clear she and Luke had been hard at work. The place was unrecognisable.
Where Island Books had been a brown dusty carbuncle darkening the corner of Market Square, Dungeons and Vegans stood bright orange and proud. All the exterior woodwork shone like a giant satsuma in the mid-morning sun. The window sills smiled pink lipstick smears of potted geraniums. On the pavement, ornate cast iron furniture sat primed with a grey undercoat ready for their next layer. Rosie was curled underneath a table, brush in hand.
“Wow, little sister, you have been busy!”
Rosie shuffled out and pushed back a few stray auburn hairs with the back of her brush hand. “Do you like it? A bold choice, Pumpkin Latte, but it should get people’s attention.”
“Is that the name of the colour? Perfect choice. I can’t wait till you open. Sorry, I haven’t been much help.”
My sister rose and pulled out a grey chair. “Here, take a seat. It’s dry.” She balanced her brush on the paint pot and rested her behind on a table. “Honestly, we’ve been fine. Tilly and Buck have been helping. And Mum. Even Zuzu moved a stack of old magazines the other day.” Now I feel even more guilty.
“Good to hear everyone is rallying round. Buck too. He’s quite the character, don’t you think?”
“He’s a good man.” Rosie became suddenly very occupied with the button on her dungarees.
“He is.” Now. A reformed soul. Proof that everyone can change. “Perhaps we should invite him for dinner at the vicarage to say thank you?” Matchmaker, matchmaker, make me a match.
“Er, yes. That would be… nice.” She smoothed her hands down her denim front. “Do you want a tour while you’re here? See what we’ve been up to?”
Rosie skipped over the threshold and, dodging piles of books, led me through to the gaming salon at the back of the shop. Luke was busy with a bunch of coloured wires on the floor.
“Hey, Aunt Jess. What d’ya think? This will be sweet when I’m finished.”
“I’ll have to take your word for it,” I replied. “Haven’t you got exams?”
“All done. Aced the lot, naturally. Perfect timing, eh? Means I can concentrate on my den.” In total contrast to the bright exterior, the ‘den’ was virtually pitch black. Though there were several neon signs dotted around the walls and a few action hero posters, they did little to lighten the aesthetic. In the centre stood a large black ash table with various cubby holes underneath.
Luke bounced up with such speed his dark curls took a few seconds to catch up. “Buck made it. It’s totally awesome. There’s storage underneath for cards and figures. And over here,” He danced over to a red metal locker in the corner, “we can store maps and stuff. And look, see, the table even has pull-out cup holders and a snack tray.”
“Customers can play for hours and hours without having to get up to eat. We will bring refreshments direct to their chair.” Rosie hugged her son with pride. “Luke has worked so hard pulling all this together. It’s completely his concept.”
“So Dungeons at the back and Vegans at the front. I like it.”
“It’s a bit of a risk on the island. Would be a better business proposition on the mainland, but maybe it’s the beginning of a national franchise.” Rosie already had expansion plans.
“I don’t see why not,” I replied. “People need to socialise. Even gamers.”
“And vegans. It’s the way forward. Mum’s come up with a fantastic menu. All super easy recipes, even I can handle, with good margins.”
“It’s a shame she doesn’t want to work here. She might change her mind when everything settles down. I can’t see her knitting by the fireside, can you?”
“No, but I can understand why she doesn’t
want to commit. This is hard work, and she deserves a break.” Luke had wriggled free from his mother’s clutches and was back to the plastic-coated spaghetti on the floor. Rosie's free arm linked through mine, and we walked back outside. “By the way, I was thinking. Hugo can come and live with me if he wants. What’s a bookshop without a cat, eh?”
I felt a sudden urge to cry. “We’ll have to ask him. He’s very picky.” I croaked.
Brief Encounter
Rosie flatly refused my offer to stay and help with the painting. I could get a complex. I headed instead towards the Norma Jean. Forensics were probably finished by now, and without the Inspector’s presence, I might get something a second time around.
The yacht remained cordoned off with flickering blue and white ribbons. Not much of a deterrent to the determined trespasser. As I drew closer, I spied two familiar characters sitting on the bench Zuzu and I had sat on the day before.
“Captain Jack, are you not allowed back on board yet?”
“No, Vicar. They’re taking their own sweet time, and that’s a fact. I’ve got a question for you too, as you’re here.”
“Of course. May I sit down?” Jack and Archie budged up to give me room. “Thank you, How can I help?”
“Well, to be honest with ya, I thought it odd, the Inspector bringing you onboard yesterday. Offering solace to the bereaved, etc. You know, seemed a bit premature, but folk on Wesberrey be stranger than most. Given that we appraised you of the facts as they stand, I was thinking… do you think a boat can be cursed?”
“I don’t think so, no. Bad things happen, often to good people, all the time. Curses offer the superstitious a way to explain things we want to find answers for when there aren’t any obvious explanations.”
Archie became jittery. “Old man, you never told me about no damn curse!”
“There wasn’t one. But now there’s been a death. A bad omen at sea. Bad enough having women on board, but that’s business. I’m thinking of selling her. Maybe it’s time for me to drop anchor for good.”
“Jack,” his eyes bore into me, “I mean, Captain, this is an extremely upsetting thing to happen, but we don’t know yet what caused it. It might have been a tragic accident.”
“And that is better for a ship, how? I am rigorous in my adherence to health and safety.”
“I second that.” Archie folded his muscular arms across his well-defined chest. Do men deliberately buy their t-shirts two sizes too small to achieve this effect? “The Capt’n here is a stickler for the rules.”
“I take it those rules don’t stretch to fraternising with the guests?”
Archie unfolded his arms and rubbed his palms up and down on his thighs. “I am all about the hospitality.” He grinned, “Always pays to be friendly. If you know what I mean.”
Archie had a face and a body designed to keep the customers happy. I suppose there is nothing wrong with hiring some eye candy to keep the paying guests entertained. What he will do for tips was not my place to judge. “So, I guess it’s your job to get to know your customers extremely well?”
“I think it’s my greatest skill, Reverend. Some just want to talk and that’s fine with me. I love to listen. Others have more, let’s say, energetic plans, but hey, I can accommodate that too.” His smile was like an electric bulb. Once lit, its brightness was dazzling. It was easy to see the appeal. “Most just want to feel special. It’s a fantasy. Like Disneyland. My job is to keep them satisfied. Excellent food, good company. What’s more important in life?”
“And the ladies on the Norma Jean? How well did you get to know them?”
“What makes you think it was just the ladies?” he chuckled. “But yes, I have some insights.”
“Well, I have none that would be of any value,” piped in the captain. “I keep myself to myself. Two nights ago, I hit the Cat and Fiddle for last orders as soon as we docked. Left them to watch the fireworks - loud, whizzy things. What the passengers got up to after I left is none of my concern.”
“So that was Sunday night, and the landlord of the pub should be able to verify your alibi?” One less potential suspect. I would need to check with Phil…
“Not that I need an alibi, Vicar. All of this has nothing to do with me!”
“No, no, of course. I was just thinking that will make the police’s job easier.” Captain Jack was a mighty curmudgeon, but then it would be natural for an innocent man to be reviled by the thought he might be a suspect.
“Archie, I think you’d better guard your words, my son, before the coppers fit you up with this nonsense. I don’t trust that Inspector as far as I could throw him. That poncy moustache. Grow a real beard man!”
I suppressed a giggle to defend my sister’s lover. “Inspector Lovington is an honourable man. I am sure he seeks the truth. There will be no stitch-up.”
“Easy for you to say, Vicar. Not a young black man, are you?” Jack leaned across his colleague. “I’ve worked with Archie here for the past three years and never had a better first mate. Straight as a dye.”
The Captain’s ideas of morality were questionable. I suppose Archie was straightforward in his extra-curricular dealings. His honesty was refreshing.
Archie glowed in the light of his captain’s praise. “All I know is they were all on edge this year.”
“This year? You have sailed with the Aurora Agency before?”
“Yes, Ma’am. They’ve chartered the Norma Jean twice a year for as long as I have been on board.”
“Twice a year?”
Captain Jack pumped himself up. “We’re booked for the Wesberrey Regatta and a late summer tour of the Med every year. Company perks, eh? All expenses paid mini cruises. There was talk of a Norwegian trip to see the Northern Lights, but I guess that won’t happen now. Mr Huntsford loves to sail. I give him a turn at the helm on a calm day. I think he likes the solitude of the flybridge. His wife, Celeste, and the other ladies can be… demanding.”
“Ya man, you can say that again!” Archie threw his head back.
Jack motioned to Archie it was time to move on. “Doesn’t look like they are going to let us back on her today. The sun is high over the yardarm. If you don’t mind us, Vicar.”
“No, of course not. It’s been lovely to chat.”
“If you say so, Vicar.”
As Jack and Archie strolled back to the pub, I noticed the captain had a pronounced limp. Surely he hasn’t got a wooden leg? Jess, stop that now! What an interesting duo. I was certain Archie knows more than he is letting on. I needed to prise him away from the captain.
✽✽✽
I stayed a while to process what information this chance conversation had unearthed. I needed to find a way to talk to the other people on board the Norma Jean, but the inspector had them sequestered up at Bridewell Manor. Arabella! I would say she owes me a favour, or two…
I pulled out my phone. “Lady Arabella? Reverend Ward here. I have been meaning to pop over on a social visit for a while. I don’t suppose you have any plans for this evening?... oh, of course, silly me, I forgot you are hosting the yacht party. Very noble of you… Dinner, tonight? At eight? I would be honoured… yes, you are right, perhaps I can offer a little comfort in this desperate hour… informal dress? Of course, no need to send Ralph, I can walk up.”
As I slipped my phone back into my pocket, I noticed that there was movement on the yacht. It looked like the forensics team were packing up.
Chasing Shadows
When I was certain the last of the white jumpsuits had left, I wandered down to the mooring and strolled up the gangplank. With all the other yachts out to sea enjoying the beautiful sailing conditions in the bay, I was confident no one had seen me.
I had another pair of blue gloves and even though they had completed the forensics; I didn’t want to contaminate the scene by accident. But then again, what if the issue last time was the gloves? Perhaps I need to touch things directly to pick up what they had to say? Only one way to find out…
&nb
sp; I headed first to Ellen’s cabin. The police had removed her laptop, book, suitcase and make-up bag as evidence. This is a complete waste of time! I flopped on the bed. The mattress, these sheets, were the only connection I had to the dead girl if she had even slept here. I laid back and closed my eyes.
Nothing. What if I thought about Archie? If he had been sleeping with Ellen, then maybe I could pick up on that energy. At first, there was nothing, until I felt something or someone pressing down on me. There were definite caresses. Soft, feathery touches on my face, through my hair, along my inner thigh. I won’t mention this part of the investigation to Lawrence. I wanted to relax into the sensation. If I could go a little deeper, perhaps I would see a face. But there was no intimacy here. It was perfunctory, transactional. Ellen was looking for information. Archie had some information she wanted.
Oh my! I sat up with a start.
“Did you enjoy your nap?” I recognised the voice.
“Dave! You scared me!” The only way to save face was to brazen it out.
“Well, I didn’t want to interrupt.” He leaned against the cabin door frame and stroked his moustache “Did you learn anything?”
I straightened up my blouse. It had twisted itself in my trouser waistband. “No, nothing, I’m afraid. How did you know I was here?”
“Just a hunch. I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist sneaking back on board once the coast was clear.”
“You invited me in to help you with this case, remember.”
“No, I didn’t. Your aunt did. I merely played along.”
“I suggest you have another chat with Archie. He knows something. I believe Ellen was using him to get information.”
“And why would you think that?”
“Just a hunch.”
“Touché.”
“Now, if you don’t mind, I have to get back and change. I have a dinner invitation up at Bridewell Manor.”
“Oh, do you now? Guess there’s no point in trying to stop you.” Dave stepped forward and placed a hand on my shoulder. “Jess, be careful. The coroner is pretty certain Ellen’s death is suspicious. Someone from that yacht is probably responsible. And they are trapped here. Cornered animals are wont to attack if threatened. And your sister will never speak to me again if anything should happen to you.”
Consecrated Crime: A Rev Jessamy Ward Mystery (Isle Of Wesberrey Book 5) Page 4