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

by Penelope Cress

  “Well?”

  “Well what, darling child?”

  “You know exactly why I invited you up here and it wasn’t so you could put me to shame with your yoga moves!”

  “Jessie, darling, you are still resisting, aren’t you? I understand. It takes time.”

  “No, it takes explanation. Guidance. You only speak in riddles and that doesn’t cut it when I have dead people having full-blown conversations with me. Please, I want to help my friend.”

  Cindy patted my hand, “And that’s very commendable of you.”

  I wanted to swear. I burst into tears instead. “I should have asked Ellen how she died. She had the chance to tell me, why didn’t she?”

  Cindy walked to the cupboard and collected six crystal glasses. “Because it wasn’t important to her.” She slid one glass to the right of the place setting opposite me.

  “Knowing how she died. Telling us who killed her, isn’t important?”

  Cindy glided along the table as she continued to put out the other glasses. “Will it change anything?” She paused. “Will it bring her back?”

  “No, of course not.” I dried my face on my sleeve. “But…”

  “But what? Ellen wanted to tell her mother that she loved her. They were estranged when she died, weren’t they? We always think there is time. When we find out there isn’t, it is the things we didn’t say that matter the most. She had one shot, and she took it.”

  “One shot?”

  “You hadn’t slept much. You were tired, emotional, and your guard was down. If you could only learn to relax, more would be revealed.”

  “So, you don’t think Ellen will come back?”

  “No, my darling one, she has made her peace. Now, you have to find yours.”

  Unfortunate accidents

  As I sat opposite Karen at dinner, I was a mess of emotions. Part of me was relieved that I had offered Ellen a chance to say goodbye. Part of me felt guilty that I was no closer to knowing what had happened. And now there had been a second death. Could it be possible for both young people to meet with tragic accidents? That would be unfortunate in the extreme, but I had no evidence to suggest otherwise. There were no physical clues, and the psychic insights I had received told me absolutely nothing. I had learnt that the coroner’s report was inconclusive, and they were doing more tests, so that didn’t help. Though I doubted Archie’s death was accidental, it was still possible. All I had to go on was my instinct that the others were hiding something and Annie’s partially overheard conversation. Captain Jack’s disappearance was interesting, though. Perhaps all will be revealed when the police find him. Where was he, and why did he run?

  A dramatic knock on the door interrupted my musings. Mum was the first up and motioned to the rest of us to stay seated.

  “Zuzu! What a pleasant surprise! Dave, are you still on duty? Come through, we’re having dinner.” The golden couple had arrived. “Karen, you must remember Jess’s older sister Susannah?” Karen nodded. “And this is Chief Police Inspector Dave Lovington. I believe he is heading up Ellen’s case.” What little colour remained on my friend’s face drained at the mention of her daughter's name. Mum continued, unperturbed. “You must both join us for a bite to eat. There is plenty to go around.”

  Dave ran an awkward finger around his shirt collar. “I need to speak to Mrs Findlay as soon as possible.”

  Cindy flicked her hair and fixed him with a memorising stare. “Dave, darling, surely it can wait an hour. Sit. Eat. Karen isn’t going anywhere.” Dave caved and pulled out a chair at the table end where my efficient mother had already started laying out with silver cutlery. Cindy’s ability to get Dave to do her bidding without question never failed to impress me.

  The conversation tiptoed around the humongous elephant in the room - Ellen and Archie’s deaths. We talked about the weather. It had been crazy hot. The impending nuptials on Saturday, how stunning Barbara was going to look and how funny it was that she was so nervous. Zuzu spoke about how quickly Amazon had delivered her Marilyn Monroe dress, especially considering we are off shore. And Pamela repeatedly reminded us she had spoken to Hugh Burton on the phone and how gracious he had been to her. What a gentleman!

  Finally, with all food and conversation exhausted, Dave asked if he could use my study to interview Karen. I agreed, on condition that I could accompany my old friend.

  I pulled across a second chair for Karen at the front of my desk and sat as close to her as possible. The inspector sat resolute in my office chair. Karen held my hand. I was tempted to close my eyes and try to tune into her, but it would be rude to go there uninvited.

  “Dear Mrs Findlay, I am deeply sorry for your loss. I will keep this as short as possible. You must be exhausted after your long journey.”

  “I suppose I must be.” Karen shook her head and shoulders. There’s an expression people use when they feel a cold shudder, that ‘someone is walking on their grave’. Maybe they were. Karen’s hand was clammy, her features ghostly. She didn’t look at the inspector directly but maintained a steady gaze aimed nowhere in particular.

  Dave pressed on. “When did you last speak to your daughter?”

  She jerked her head from side to side as if the memory was stuck in a pinball machine. “Must have been last summer.”

  Dave glanced up from his notepad. “Last summer?”

  Karen’s hand flinched in mine. “Yes, I know what you’re thinking. I think it too.”

  “Mrs Findlay, Ellen had only worked for the Aurora Agency for six months. Did you know anything about that?”

  “Like I said, Inspector, I haven’t spoken to my daughter in over a year. I’m afraid there is very little I can tell you. The last time we spoke she was working in the HR department of a merchant bank in Canary Wharf. I didn’t even know she’d moved back to Scotland.” Her voice trailed off. “I sent her Christmas present to her old workplace. I guess they must have forwarded it to her. How kind of them.”

  “Mrs Findlay, I have to ask. Why did you and your daughter stop talking?”

  “I can’t remember. I must have upset her somehow, but I don’t know what I did.” Karen’s fingernails dug deep. “I really don’t know what I did wrong, Jess.”

  “I know.” The pain from her nails piercing my skin was nothing to the turmoil in her heart. I patted her hand. “Do you remember what you spoke about?”

  “Normal stuff. How she was. What she was doing. She just said she was okay and there was nothing new. She wasn’t particularly happy with her job. I guess she decided to move on.” Sobs crowded out what she said next, but I guessed it was something like why didn’t she tell me.

  Dave shifted to the edge of his chair. “Mrs Findlay, did Ellen suffer from depression, or anxiety to your knowledge?”

  “She wouldn't have killed herself, Inspector!” Her nails gripped tighter. “Suicides blame themselves, don’t they? They believe the world would be better off without them. They internalise the hurt. My daughter was one of those people who blamed their troubles on the world. There is no way she ended her own life. My baby always put herself first. And that was one of the things I loved most about her. She didn’t suffer fools. Ellen had a strong sense of justice. She was strong and beautiful. She was my warrior princess.”

  Karen folded into my arms. “I think you have all you need, Dave.” I stroked her ponytail. “My friend needs to rest.”

  ✽✽✽

  Once Zuzu and Dave had left, I helped Karen up to her room. Sam was going to sleep in Rosie’s old room again, so Mum had prepared Zuzu’s former crash pad for our latest guest. Sometime during the past twenty-four hours, as well as cooking a three-course meal and baking at my sister’s shop, Mum had changed the bed linen, deep cleaned the entire room, and even put out fresh flowers. What would I do without her? Karen moved the pile of clean towels off the bed onto a nearby dresser and curled up on top of the duvet. Mum had opened the window to air the room out, so I went over to close it.

  “No, Jess,
leave it open.”

  “But the forecast was for a break in the weather today, there might be a storm during the night.”

  “I know. I like to hear the thunder. And, at our age, you know, hot flushes and all that.”

  “I hear you!” I nudged my rear end onto the bed beside her and rubbed her back. “You can stay here as long as you need to, okay? Sam’s across the way and I’m just a few doors down. We’re here for you.”

  “I know. Thank you. You have both been very kind.” As she spoke, Karen’s spirit faded into the mattress beneath her. She wasn’t relaxing, just giving up. “Jess?”

  “Yes, what is it?”

  “Will you pray for me?”

  “Of course, I will.”

  And I did.

  Quid Pro Quo

  “Jess, I was thinking. Would you agree to bury Ellen with my mother in the churchyard?” Karen was much restored after her sleep and was tucking into a heaving plate of poached eggs and crispy bacon.

  “I am sure that can be arranged. You don’t want to take her back with you to Scotland?”

  “I’m not sure I want to go back. There’s nothing there for me. Just a council flat and a treasure chest of unhappy memories.”

  Sam kept looking at her watch, torn between being there for her friend and needing to be back at the hospital for her rounds. “Then why don’t you move back here?”

  “Maybe.” Karen picked up a thin bacon slice with her fingers and dangled it in front of her mouth. “I can claim Universal Credit the same here as anywhere.”

  Sam offered our grieving friend a paper towel from the cupboard to wipe her greasy fingers. “I’m sorry. I have to dash but hold that thought. I’m sure we can get you a job or something.” She stood to kiss Karen on the head and turned to leave.

  “You’ve never kissed me goodbye.” I quipped.

  “Boy, you’re needy,” she flounced around the table and planted a giant smacker in the middle of my forehead.

  Mum emerged from the fridge with fresh milk for the second pot of tea brewing on the table. “Jess needs a housekeeper.”

  “That’s a great idea. I can pay you out of the parish funds and you could live here, or find your own place, or...”

  “I’ll think about it.” Smart, I probably should too… who eats bacon with their fingers?

  A few mouthfuls of toast later, my mobile rang.

  It was Dave.

  “Excuse me, I’ll take this in my office.” I hurried along the corridor. Sensitive to being overheard, I firmly shut the office door. “Any news?”

  “We’ve found Captain Jack. You need to drop whatever vicary thing you are doing right now and get down here. The Captain says he will only talk if you’re present. PC Taylor is holding him in the back room of the Cat and Fiddle.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  ✽✽✽

  Jumping on Cilla, I stuffed my pack-a-mac into my rucksack. The predicted storms had held off during the night, but the weather reporter still forecasted heavy rains during the day. Suitably equipped for an English summer, I raced down to a bustling Market Square.

  There was a clear increase in police presence on the island. Usually, PC Taylor was the only uniform in sight. Now there were officers talking to people around the ferry, outside the shops and market stalls and along the seafront. Dave was waiting for me at the pub’s entrance.

  “I have a few rules,” he said. “We suspect Jack Shipton murdered Ellen Findlay and Archie Baldwin. I need you to get him to confess. We found him trying to get away on the Norma Jean around two am this morning. Don’t let him fool you, he’s a highly dangerous individual.” Or a frightened one.

  “So what are the rules?”

  “Think Hannibal Lecter. No touching, sit at least two metres apart and don’t give any personal information.”

  “Just call me Clarice!” I said, channelling my inner Anthony Hopkins.

  “This is no joking matter.”

  “Dave, I can handle myself. Will you or PC Taylor be in the room with me?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then I think I’ll be safe.” I brushed an imaginary piece of fluff from Dave’s jacket. “Let’s do this. I’m a busy woman.”

  ✽✽✽

  I did my best not to let my smugness tease the corners of my mouth too much. I knew Captain Jack’s requests were grinding the Inspector’s gears, and I admit I was enjoying every moment. As I strolled past a table full of uniformed officers grabbing a late breakfast in the saloon bar, my instinct told me that Captain Jack was not a threat. It was curious how he wanted to talk to me and not the police alone. Our earlier conversation on the bench might hold a clue. He had warned Archie not to trust the coppers, and maybe he wanted an independent witness. He should have asked for his lawyer, of course. There was only Ernest on the island, but they could bring one from the mainland in a few hours.

  I pushed through the backroom door to see the captain handcuffed to a chair marooned in a sea of billowy white. The room was being decorated for Saturday’s wedding reception. I am not sure that the decor gave any clues to what Barbara will wear down the aisle, but there was a lot of white lace, orange blossom and fairy lights. PC Taylor stood on guard in the far corner by the door to the kitchen.

  “Okay, Shipton, I brought the vicar.” Dave stood square on, arms folded across his chest, and grunted. “Now, will you tell us how you killed Miss Findlay and Mr Baldwin?”

  “Nope!” The captain stared the inspector down.

  “Why not, man?”

  “Because I didn’t do it, man!”

  Dave’s temple vein twitched with frustration. “Shipton, you tried to steal away in the middle of the night.”

  The captain remained steadfast. “Yes, Inspector, there’s a killer on the loose. Wouldn’t you try to get as far away as you could too?”

  This Mexican stand-off was getting us nowhere. “Captain Jack, you asked for me to be here. May I ask why?”

  “Because, Reverend Ward, the boys in blue just want a quick win. They have no evidence, but they seem convinced they have their man.”

  “Is that the only reason?” I suspected he knew more than he was saying.

  Now it was Captain Shipton’s turn to look smug. “What if I knew why?”

  Dave paced around the chair. “Then you should stop playing games.”

  “I will if you remove the handcuffs and talk to me as an equal.”

  Dave had an iron will. I determined to bend it a little with some feminine logic. “Inspector, the pub and Market Square beyond are teeming with police. You and PC Taylor are both in here. I am sure you could easily overpower this old man if he tried to make a break for it.”

  “Eh, Vicar, not so much of the old. But she is right, Lovington, how far would I get with half of Stourchester’s finest between me and the Norma Jean? And on market day too. Have you seen how busy it gets?”

  Dave signalled to PC Taylor to remove the cuffs.

  “There, that’s better.” I soft clapped my appreciation. “Captain Jack, are you hungry? Thirsty? I’ll ask Phil for the brunch menu, then we can talk.”

  ✽✽✽

  Three builder’s cups of tea and a sausage sandwich smothered in HP sauce later, Captain Jack was ready to ‘spill the beans’. He rolled back in his chair and wiped traces of the brown condiment from his beard with a napkin.

  “There’s a diary.”

  I still had a few sips of tea left in my cup. I took one before replying. I don’t want to appear too excited. “Whose diary?”

  “That Ellen Findlay’s, of course.” Jack threw down the napkin in triumph. “She had quite a love of secrets.”

  “Do you have it?”

  “Nope, but I know who took it.”

  We waited. Jack was milking his moment to the fullest.

  I caved, “Well, who took it?”

  “Archie. It was his special mission.” Jack leaned forward and rubbed his beard. “You know, all that tea has left a sour taste in my mouth. I
don’t suppose a drop of rum would be permissible?”

  Dave’s furious breath blew across my shoulder. “Enough stalling. This diary doesn’t prove your innocence, if it even exists,”

  “Oh, it exists, Inspector. I saw it.”

  “And did you get to read inside?”

  “Maybe? As I said, I’m getting a powerful thirst.” Jack shrugged. “We are in a pub, for heaven’s sake. You are torturing me here!”

  Dave pushed past me and grabbed the table. “Speak first. If what you have to say is worth my time, PC Taylor here will get you your drink.”

  “Hmm, I suppose that’s a fair compromise. Wouldn’t want you lot in court to say I was being uncooperative.” Jack drummed his fingers on the table, tilted his head towards me, and smirked. “They asked Archie to borrow her diary. They told him it was a prank. So he wormed his way into her bedroom and stole it away whilst she showered.”

  “Who are they?” I asked.

  “Now, that I don’t know, but there are only four potential suspects. I‘ll leave the detecting to someone else.”

  Dave huffed. This game of cat and mouse was testing his patience. “And you definitely saw this diary?”

  “Yes, Archie wanted my advice. You see, he thought it would be all girly, you know. All rainbows and unicorns. Reflections on the day and hopes for the future, maybe a few sexual fantasies, you know the sort of stuff.”

  “And it wasn’t?” My knowledge of Ellen so far didn’t suggest she was a unicorn type of girl.

  “Nope. It read like a military battle plan. There were objectives and targets and she wrote a lot in code. Poor Archie was a bit spooked by it, to be honest. He was going to put it back.”

  Dave’s mood mellowed. “So what stopped him?” It was a redundant question. We both knew the answer.

  “Well, she turned up dead,” Jack replied.