Killer at the Cult

by Alison Golden

  The children filed into the room, their faces solemn but twitching with nervous grins as they worked to remember Annabelle’s instructions.

  "Smile, sing your hearts out, and most of all, have fun,” she had told them at the pre-performance pep talk.

  Camera flashes popped, and Kevin Poulter, dad to Sharon and the videographer for the night, started filming. Parents, siblings, grandparents, uncles, and aunties had come from miles around to see the performance and the atmosphere in the room was hot with anticipation. It was standing room only, and as the children took their places, they searched for their families in the crowd.

  Spontaneous applause broke out at the sight of the children and continued as the musicians filed into the room. Annabelle brought up the rear and entered carrying her conductor’s baton, acknowledging the audience and walking up to the music stand to take her place in front of the children. The clapping died down and a murmur rippled through the room. The packed audience of proud parents, family members, other locals, and visiting clergy looked at one another in surprise. For Annabelle was wearing a dress.

  The lightweight shift in dusky pink skimmed her body. It reached to just below her knees. Tulip-shaped, three-quarter length sleeves ended at her elbows. A small band of white in the upstanding collar was just enough to mark her as clergy, while on her feet were a pair of pointy, slingback pumps in a matching shade of pink. The outfit was modest and pretty and feminine. The solid shade accented her blue eyes perfectly.

  The crowd was momentarily dumbstruck, but as Annabelle raised her arms to begin the first song, the clapping started back up and got louder and louder, punctuated by the odd cheer as the crowd communicated their approval of this new vision of their beloved Reverend.

  Annabelle had caught sight of Mike sitting in the front row. Now the lights dimmed, and she smiled at the children, as she waited for the applause to die down. She flicked back her hair and drew everyone’s attention, her new earrings glittering in the half-light.

  They made it! All the way through the list of colors. Granted they’d been carried along by the fourteen year olds, Trevor and Abigail, but they were all making noise on the long last note, nearly all of them tuneful.

  Annabelle had told them to “la” or hum if they forgot the words, and bob their heads in time. Taking her words to heart, four-year-old Maisie bobbed her head like she was at a Led Zeppelin concert. She was in the front row wearing her sheep’s costume made from many cotton wool balls glued to a vest.

  Things had been chaos in Maisie’s household earlier. Just before they left the house, she had become unhappy with her sheep costume. She’d wanted to be an angel instead, so her harried mother had compromised, and Maisie had gone on stage as a sheep angel. She was now, in addition to her sheep costume, wearing a pair of wings and the biggest, longest, emerald green clip-on earrings Barbara’s jewelry collection could bring forth.

  After the concert was over, in appreciation for the childfree hours that rehearsals had provided and the amount of effort the concert had demanded of Annabelle, she was presented with a huge bunch of flowers and two bottles of hard liquor. Many of the grateful parents and enthusiastic locals crowded around Annabelle to personally offer their thanks and congratulations.

  Sally walked up pushing an elderly woman in a wheelchair.

  "Sally, how are you?” Annabelle held out her hands. Sally took them briefly.

  “I’m well, thank you, Reverend.”

  “Where are you living now? I heard you all moved out and went your separate ways.”

  "Yes, that’s right. Scott went up to London to search for streets paved with gold. Margaret and Suki found a cousin of her late husband to go live with. We keep in touch, well, me and Scott do.”

  “And you? What are you doing?”

  “I’m working at the care home in Mevagissey. I live-in. I'm really enjoying it. Elderly folks are so much fun. This is Eta Reisman, Thomas’ mother.” Sally indicated the woman in the wheelchair. The senior looked up with rheumy eyes.

  Annabelle bent down and placed a gentle hand on her knee. “So pleased to meet you.”

  “Eta can’t hear you. She’s deaf and nearly blind, but she has a lovely soul. Guess who lives at the care home with her?

  Annabelle raised her eyebrows.

  “Alexander Drummond! They sit and have tea together most days. He’s a bit too far gone to know what’s happening, but Eta is as sharp as a tack and knows exactly what’s what. She teaches me every day how to be a better person.”

  “And how are things with your father?”

  “Improving. I’ll go home eventually but not just yet.”

  “I’m glad things are working out for you. I wish you well, Sally.”

  “You too, Reverend. Fabulous performance!"

  When the crowd thinned, Mike, who had been standing back giving her the space to chat with her parishioners, came over. “Great job, Annabelle. I told you it would be fantastic.”

  “Your lucky charm earrings made all the difference.”

  “I’m sure that was it.”

  They both smiled and gave each other a hug. Over his shoulder, Annabelle’s eyes widened as she saw Chief Inspector Ainslie coming toward them.

  Ainslie was as big and burly as always, his trench coat flapping as he marched toward her, except this time he was wearing a huge grin. He was carrying Maisie, who had dispensed with her sheep costume and whose angel wings were now askew. In her hand was a bouquet of gladioli that she was swishing through the air like a light saber.

  “Hello, Chief Inspector, I didn’t realize you would be here tonight.”

  “Couldn’t miss my granddaughter’s star performance now could I?”

  Annabelle looked at Maisie who was now bashing the Chief Inspector over the head with her flowers.

  “Maisie’s your granddaughter? I had no idea.”

  “Wasn’t she fantastic? When she let out that “moo,” right on time, I couldn’t have been prouder.”

  As he spoke, Ainslie seemed oblivious to the fact that Maisie was attaching her earrings to his large earlobes and stroking his bald head. Mike, in particular, tried to focus on what the Chief Inspector was saying, but the sight of his boss wearing huge, dangling costume jewelry while his granddaughter lovingly pet his head as if it were a small animal, made it difficult.

  “Anyhow, Nicholls, well done on the cases. Both the cult thing, and the pony thing. Glad to see you so committed. We weren’t sure about you, but you put your back into those cases and got results.”

  “The murder case had nothing to do with me, sir. I was merely the arresting officer. It was all the Reverend here. She made the deductions, worked out who the killer was, and got them to confess. She should be recommended for a community award.”

  “Yes, you’re right, I suppose.” Ainslie coughed. “Well, congratulations for apprehending the murderer with the help of your lady friend here.” He nodded at Annabelle. “She might not be one of us, but I can see that the two of you are a team, so I’ll see what I can do. I shall be recommending you for a promotion when I get back in on Monday. See that you don’t mess up, alright, or get distracted with, er, God and such.”

  Annabelle squeezed Mike’s hand. He squeezed it back.

  When everyone had gone, Annabelle flopped down on a chair and fanned herself with a program. Mike sat down more carefully beside her.

  “So what did happen about the ‘pony thing?’”

  “We tracked down the person who was helping the rustlers,” he said.

  “Who was it?”

  “It was a vet in Liskeard who’d developed a taste for the good life. The women would steal the ponies from the moor and in return for a cut of the profits, the vet would drug the ponies so they were docile. The women would clip their coats so they lost their rugged, wild look, then they sold them off as children’s pets. Of course, after a time, the drugs wore off and the ponies reverted back to their natural wild selves. Nasty. Someone could have been killed. We’ve appr
ehended all three, and they’ll face trial later in the year.”

  “How awful. What will happen to the ponies they stole?”

  “Three of them are staying with their owners and will be subject to welfare checks for the next three years. Two of them have gone to a horse and pony sanctuary near Tintagel. When they are ready, new homes will be found for them.”

  “Thank goodness. All’s well that ends well, then. That’s a big relief. And perhaps the number of walking wounded in the village will go down.”

  “Look, why don’t we go back to your place? Celebrate your success. I’ve got some champagne in the car.”

  “Do you ordinarily go around with bottles of champagne in your car?”

  “No, of course not. I brought it specially.” Mike looked at her oddly.

  “Come on, then. Let’s go.” Annabelle linked her arm in Mike’s and off they set, Annabelle’s heart full of triumph and anticipation.

  At the cottage, Annabelle grabbed two glasses from the cupboard and joined Mike on the red sofa in her cozy living room.

  “I’ve got something else for you. I popped in to see my sister on my way home from the conference, and she gave me this,” Mike said.

  “You told your sister about me?”

  “Of course! Your brother’s met me.” Mike placed a white cardboard box on her lap. Around it was wrapped a pink ribbon with a large gold and pink bow on top.

  “It isn’t a cake is it? I’m trying to be good.”

  “Good? You can’t not be good. You’re a vicar.”

  “No, I mean with my eating. I’m trying to eat fewer sweets. Slim down a bit.”

  “Well, that’s a shame, because my sister’s a Master Baker. She works for one of the top London restaurants as their patisserie chef. She’ll have you knee deep in cake before you know it, if you let her.”

  Annabelle rolled her eyes. “Good Lord, I am done for.”

  Mike lifted the lid on the box. “I think it’s time you were just a little bit bad, don’t you?”

  Annabelle leaned over to look in the box. What she saw nearly caused her to fall face first into it.

  The heart-shaped cake was covered in cream. Around the edges were piped red roses and across the face of the cake were sprinkled tiny red hearts. A few more lay scattered on the cake tray. A chocolate arrow speared the cake and the word “Love” had been written in chocolate and placed at an angle, supported by more roses, on the surface. It was simple, tasteful, and elegant. And it shocked Annabelle to her core.

  “It’s made with buttercream because I know that’s your favorite.”

  “Oh, Mike. You are full of surprises. Thank you.”

  “Shall I get a knife so you can have a slice?”

  “You want me to eat it?” She looked at him in horror. “I’m not going to eat it. I’m going to frame it!”

  Mike raised his eyebrows.

  “Oh, alright, but not just yet. I want to look at it some more. And when I do take a bite, just a little. Then you must take it away or I’ll scoff the whole lot.”

  “Okay, deal. I’ll take it down the station. They will inhale it.”

  “I’ll save the decoration. You’ll never hear the last of it otherwise.”

  They sat quietly for a while. “I wouldn’t worry about being good, if I were you.” Mike said. “I think you’re quite good enough as you are.”

  Annabelle turned to look at him. Mike leaned toward her, and when their lips touched, she felt she was melting and on fire at the same time. Their kiss lasted a full ten seconds.

  “What took you so long?” she murmured when they broke apart.

  “You could have made the first move. Haven’t you heard? Kissing is an equal opportunity sport.”

  Annabelle shuddered. “No siree.”

  “No, well, maybe not. But you know, you’re quite intimidating.”

  “Me? Intimidating?”

  “You’re so good. And holy. And everyone loves you. And well, you’re a vicar. I’m a divorced detective.”

  Silence descended once more.

  “You look lovely in your dress,” Mike said eventually, quietly.

  “Thank you. It’s a bit more feminine than my cassock, isn’t it?”

  “Well, I don’t mind what you wear, but I will say that cassock is a little off-putting.”

  “In what way?”

  “Well, um, there’s rather a lot of cloth.”

  Annabelle smiled.

  “Look, it’s not every day one falls for a female vicar. I’ve certainly never fallen for one before. It’s different. I wasn’t quite sure of the rules.”

  “The villagers haven’t helped. They’ve been placing bets, you know, and I think Philippa and Barbara have been trying to track you down. I overheard them discussing how to do it. They were googling you.”

  “I think they wanted to give me a talking-to. There’s a pile of messages from them back at the station.”

  “And then there’s your other female admirers.”

  “My what? Who?”

  “You said yourself Sergeant Lawrence keeps inviting you for coffee.”

  “Yeah, but that’s profession— Really? You think? No!”

  It was Annabelle’s turn to raise her eyebrows.

  “And, according to Jim Raven, there’s Shenae in the canteen.”

  “The one with the piercings?” Mike flopped his head back onto the back of the sofa. “Gosh.” He started to laugh. Annabelle joined in, and soon they were laughing uproariously, Mike’s arm around Annabelle, her giggling into his shoulder.

  When they stopped laughing, Annabelle propped herself up on one elbow and brushed the hair away from her face. She looked down at him. “Seriously though, I may be a vicar, I may have a flock and God at my side, but I also want a partner, a living, breathing person. At the end of the day, I’m just a girl who wants to be loved and cherished. I want someone supporting me, lifting me up, and helping me with the everyday stuff of life. And I will do the same in return.”

  “I would like to be that person for you, Annabelle.”

  “I would like to be that person for you, Mike.”

  They watched the last minutes of the sunset, the bright white light of the sun fading and turning the sky around it gray and pink before the glow disappeared completely. The dogs now lay in front of the fireplace, the occasional sound of their tails making a dull thump against the fireside rug. Even Biscuit jumped on Mike’s lap and settled herself down.

  Annabelle reached to turn on a low light. Mike put his arm around her shoulder, and she kissed him gently before laying her head on his shoulder. She scratched Biscuit at the base of her ears. Biscuit purred. The dogs yawned and closed their eyes. All was still and dark and silent. Life didn’t get any better than this, Annabelle was certain. Life, love, God, and dogs.

  And cats. Don’t forget the cats.

  REVERENTIAL RECIPES

  LOVELY LEMON TART

  For the base:

  6 oz. digestive biscuits or graham crackers, crushed

  3 oz. butter, melted

  1 oz. brown sugar

  For the filling:

  3 tablespoons cornflour/starch

  ⅓ pint water

  Finely grated rind of 2 lemons

  Scant ¼ pint lemon juice

  3 oz. sugar

  2 egg yolks

  Pre-heat the oven to 140°C/275°F. Place the biscuit/graham cracker crumbs in a bowl and work in the melted butter and brown sugar.

  Use this mixture to line the base of an 8-inch flan ring. Place in the fridge to set firm while making the filling.

  To prepare the filling, mix the cornflour/starch and water together in a saucepan. Add the lemon rind and juice and bring slowly to the boil, stirring constantly with a wooden spoon. Simmer gently until the mixture thickens, then remove from the heat and stir in the sugar.

  Leave to cool slightly, then beat in the egg yolks. Pour this mixture into the chilled biscuit base.

  Bake in a very cool oven for 30 m
inutes.

  PIOUS PLUM & ALMOND CRUMBLE

  2 oz. butter

  4 oz. soft white breadcrumbs

  2 oz. soft brown sugar

  2 oz. flaked almonds

  ½ teaspoon ground cinnamon

  1 lb. plums, stoned and lightly poached

  Heavy whipping or double cream, whipped to serve

  Preheat the oven to 180°C/350 °F.

  Melt the butter in a pan. Stir in the breadcrumbs, sugar, almonds and cinnamon.

  Put the plums in a pie dish, then sprinkle the breadcrumb mixture over the top. Bake in a preheated oven for 30-35 minutes.

  Serve cold with the cream. Serves 4.

  Note:

  This is a very versatile recipe with many variations. The plums can be substituted with lightly poached apples or rhubarb and instead of flaked almonds, try using chipped walnuts or Brazil nuts.

  REFORMED RHUBARB FLAN

  6 oz. plain flour, sifted

  3 oz. white cooking fat or lard

  2-3 tablespoons water

  1 lb. rhubarb, cut into 1-inch lengths

  1 egg

  6 oz. sugar

  1 oz. cornflour/starch

  1 oz. butter

  Grated rind of 1 lemon

  Juice of 1 lemon made up to ¼ pint with water

  Preheat the oven to 180°C, 350°F, Gas mark 4.

  Put the flour into a bowl and rub in the fat until the mixture resembles breadcrumbs. Add the water and mix to a soft dough. Chill for 30 minutes.

  Roll out the pastry and line a 10-inch flan tin.

  Arrange the rhubarb in circles in the flan tin.

  Put the egg, sugar, cornflour/starch, butter, lemon rind, lemon juice, and water in a pan. Bring to the boil slowly, stirring all the time.

  Spread the lemon mixture over the rhubarb. Place in the preheated oven for 30 minutes, then increase the heat to 200°C, 400°F, Gas mark 5 for a further 15 minutes. Serve warm.