Immaculate Deception

by Hannah Weston Price

  Ms. Wilcox linked her fingers in front of her and seemed to be considering which words to say first. “That was a moving sermon. Not quite what we’re used to here in the village, but…” her lips pursed as though she didn’t like the taste of them. “It was nicely done. Sarah, also read adequately well. I would be quite willing to read the occasional lesson, if you should require.”

  “Thank you,” Reggie replied. “That would be lovely.”

  She was about to ask if there was more when Ms. Wilcox continued in a sterner voice.

  “As for the matter of Miss Murphy.”

  “Oh, yes. Did you want to take part?” The words were wishful thinking on Reggie’s side, and we know what they say about wishes.

  “Certainly not! After what that creature did?” The headmistress drew up to her full height, squaring her shoulders. “Need I remind you that suicide is a mortal sin?”

  Reggie had no words.

  After a moment she managed. “I am quite aware.”

  “Then you know that girl cannot be laid to rest within our Christian cemetery.”

  “Ms. Wilcox, I did not know Elsa Murphy well.”

  “You didn’t know her at all,” she snapped.

  “You’re correct, but from what I’ve heard, she was a valued member of the congregation, she taught Sunday School here at the church.”

  “That does not change what she did.”

  “But the police are still investigating. We’re not even sure it was suicide.”

  Ms. Wilcox turned a disturbing shade of red. “I know that the only reason they are still investigating is because you fluttered your eyelashes at that young single detective.”

  “I’ve done no such thing,” Reggie returned, working very hard to keep her voice level. “Nevertheless, though I respect your place on the parish council, I am the reverend here now, and I will see that Elsa received a proper Christian burial. The Lord forgives all who have faith in him, even those who lose their way.” Her voice trembled slightly on that last part.

  Ms. Wilcox looked like she might burst. Reggie would not have been surprised if smoke began shooting from her ears at that moment.

  With a stiff nod, the older woman opened her mouth, closed it, opened, closed. Finally, she spoke between clenched teeth. “As you say, Reverend. But I should inform you that I will be drafting a very firm letter to the Bishop this very afternoon.”

  The moment that toxic woman was out of the church, Reggie sank down onto one of the stools and shut her eyes tight. “God, give me the patience to not follow that woman and give her a piece of my mind, including every swear word I know, and the three Uncle Rudy taught me and Daniel that summer he was home from service.”

  “Do you need me to handcuff you to the pulpit?” Sarah asked, leaning against the doorframe.

  Following Sarah in, was the new church cat who meowed and circled Reggie’s legs before settling to sleep on Reggie’s feet.

  “Looks like Miss Kitty has found a better way to restrain my urge to shout obscenities.” She smiled at Sarah. “Did you hear all of that.”

  “I heard you stand your ground and declare that Elsa would have a Christian burial. Elsa deserved someone on her side.” Sarah looked down at her hands. “If only someone had been at her back before…”

  Reggie took her hands and gripped them tight. “You really had my back today. I’m so thankful you were with me. I don’t think I could have carried on the sermon without you.”

  “Ms. Wilcox said I was just adequate.”

  “Ms. Wilcox wouldn’t know a Christian lesson if Christ came down and read it to her himself.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Reggie arrived at Miss Duncan’s little cottage just before midday with wine and cream, as promised.

  Miss Duncan narrowed her eyes on the bottle. “This looks suspiciously like the bottle that was in the gift basket organized by the ladies auxiliary club.”

  Reggie flushed guiltily. “I’m sorry, I didn’t get time to buy any this week and the off-license is closed for another hour. Besides,” Reggie added with a little smile. “I didn’t want to drink it all by myself.” Then at the woman’s unconvinced expression, Reggie held up the other item. “I brought cream.”

  Miss Duncan lead the way into her small sitting room and Reggie came to a sudden stop when she saw that there was another guest.

  Sitting on the sofa, was a rightfully annoyed looking Detective Thornton. He didn’t look happy to see her. Reggie waggled her fingers and grinned.

  “I hope you don’t mind,” Miss Duncan said with a slight smile. “I invited my nephew to join us. He’s a detective, you know. And still unmarried, can you believe it.”

  “Yes, I can,” Reggie replied with a wider grin at Harry. “Hello Detective. I’d hoped to see you in church this morning.”

  “I heard it was a rip-roarer of a sermon,” Miss Duncan said. “Everyone is very pleased with you. Except Headmistress Bossy-pants of course, but that’s to be expected.”

  “How on earth did you learn all that so fast?”

  Miss Duncan tapped her nose. “I have my ways, Vicar. Not sit down and visit for a while with Harry while I get to work in here. I won’t be a moment.”

  “I get the feeling we’re being set up,” Reggie said as she took a seat as far away from Harry as was possible without being rude, but at his annoyed sigh she couldn’t help retorting. “Well you don’t need to act so disgusted by it all.”

  He gave her raised eyebrows and she fidgeted in her seat. “Not that I’m even slightly interested. I was simply saying there is no need to be rude.”

  “Why are you even here?” He finally said, sounding more curious now than anything else. “My Aunt hasn’t been to church since my cousin’s wedding and that was twenty years ago.”

  Reggie relaxed in her seat and smiled. “She was the first person I met in the village. As I was driving to the church, I saw her carrying a heavy load and offered to help.”

  “And how did that go?”

  Reggie made a face and they both chuckled.

  “Look at that,” Miss Duncan said looking very pleased with herself. “I just knew you two would get on.”

  After they’d had their fill of cake, and between them Miss Duncan and Reggie had finished off the wine, Harry announced that he needed to get back to work.

  “Well you can’t let Reverend Watson walk on her own!” Miss Duncan exclaimed. “I’m afraid I’ve gotten her a little tipsy. You’ll need to drive her home.”

  “I’m fine!” Reggie said. “I found my way here, I’m sure I can find my way home.”

  Harry let out another of the many sighs that had left him during lunch. “Come on, Reverend. I’ll drive you.”

  In the car, she twisted in her seat, so the side of her head rested on the headrest and she watched the detective frown as he drove through the winding streets.

  “You know if you’d just let me walk, I’d be home by now,” she said with a smirk. “There’s a path that leads right from your aunt’s house to the church and my house isn’t far from there. How awesome is that?”

  His mouth twitched, and he flicked her a look. “Pretty — awesome.”

  Was he mocking her?

  “Are you mocking me?” She asked.

  “What, me? Never.”

  She frowned at him as his hands tightened slightly on the wheel. “You don’t like me very much, do you.”

  That earned her a surprised glance. “What makes you say that?”

  “You’re always yelling at me.”

  “I am not always yelling at you. We’ve barely met.”

  “You yelled in your office.”

  His mouth twitched again. Was he trying not to smile?

  “One time, I yelled.” He threw her a look. “And I’m sorry.”

  “I forgive you.” She grinned at him and he rolled his eyes.

  “You think I’m just forgiving you because it’s my job, don’t you?” She said. “Well I’m not. I genuinely forgive you,
Harry Thornton.”

  “For the love of…” He threw her an exasperated look. “It was barely three yelled words at most.”

  “And you said that I didn’t know the words to Rocket Man.”

  “Do you know the words?”

  “That’s hardly the point!” She nibbled at her lip. “You’re going to yell at me again.”

  That made him stiffen but he’d just pulled into the driveway. Without a word he slid out of the driver’s seat and was at her door and opening it for her, before she could even try to do it herself.

  “Thank you,” she said, and she pulled out her key. “Did you want some coffee?”

  “I want you to tell me what you’ve done to make me yell at you again.”

  Opening the door for him this time, she showed him to the sitting room.

  “I haven’t done anything, I swear.” She held up a hand in salute, parting her fingers in the middle. “Vicar’s honor.”

  He didn’t look impressed. “You know that’s the Vulcan salute, right.”

  Her hand clamped down at her side. “I’ll make some coffee, you make yourself at home.”

  Once they were seated with coffee, Reggie reached into her pocket and handed him the note.

  “I know I should have called you last night, but I wasn’t sure if it was anything at all, and I didn’t want to wake you at midnight for nothing.”

  He made a shushing sound as he read the note.

  “Then,” she continued after she was sure he was finished, “I thought I’d see you in church, but…”

  Detective Thornton pinched the bridge of his nose and squinted again at the note.

  “And when did you say this arrived?”

  “Last night, probably just before midnight. It wasn’t there when I went up to bed and something woke me, although I didn’t know what at the time. It was probably whoever left the note!”

  “Hmm.”

  “Well don’t you see what this means?”

  “That you’ve been nosing around a police investigation?”

  Her mouth fell open, aghast. “I have done no such thing!”

  He held up the note as if it were proof otherwise.

  “All it means is that I’ve been asking the right questions and someone doesn’t like it.”

  “And what questions would they be?”

  “I swear, I wasn’t trying to solve the case from under you. I simply asked if Elsa was seeing anyone.”

  His brows lifted. “Did you learn anything?”

  “Well that’s the thing, nobody knows. Whoever she was seeing, she was keeping it secret and he hasn’t come to talk to me.” She took a sip of her coffee then remembered something. “Oh!”

  “Oh?”

  “When I started asking questions,” she stammered at his expression and added. “When I started asking that one question, I noticed two odd reactions. Both Mr. Peterson, her old teacher, and Vivian, you know, Marcus Blackwell’s fiancée.”

  “What kind of reaction?”

  “I think Mr. Peterson had a coughing fit and Vivian spilled her coffee.”

  He pinched the bridge of his nose again. It must have been getting quite raw by this point.

  “I’m going to take this and make a copy.” He held up the letter. “You can pick it up tomorrow morning. I have some forms for you to sign as well for the release of Elsa’s body.” His shoulders sagged slightly, and he peered at her from under his fringe. “It was nice of you to agree to oversee the funeral. It’s a lot to take on, considering you’ve just arrived and all.”

  “It’s the least I can do.” Reggie placed her cup down and felt a lump rise in her throat. “In fact, it might be the last thing I do here as Vicar. Ms. Wilcox is apparently right this minute writing a letter to the Bishop to have me fired.”

  “Don’t pack your bags just yet,” he said, his voice quiet. Then, clearing his throat, he added in a stronger tone. “And keep your nose out of this case. If this really is a threat and you get yourself murdered, they’ll send a detective from the city to take over.”

  “No, no, your concern is too much to handle.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Thank you for coming with me, Summer,” Reggie said as she opened the sweet little cottage Elsa had inherited from her mother. “I would have felt awkward coming here alone.”

  “Thank you for asking,” Summer replied. “I’ve been so bored these last few days. With Elsa gone and John … Well you know. I needed a distraction.”

  Though Reggie had led many funerals since becoming a vicar, she’d never actually had to organize one before. It was overwhelming how much needed to be done. But picking a pretty dress and maybe a few personal items for Elsa to take with her, seemed like a good place to start. Maybe she could even get a clue as to the mystery man the girl was seeing.

  The cottage was cozy with boxy windows framed with white lace curtains and the walls were painted a warm cream with light brown edgings. The effect made the cottage feel smaller but not cramped. Comforting, that was the word.

  Back in feudal times these would have probably been the servant’s cottages and the whole of Patchwork Hill would have been owned by the proud lord of the manor house on the hill. Absently, Reggie wondered how many residents could trace their lineage back that far.

  That was a thought. “So,” Reggie began. “The identity of Elsa’s father is still a mystery? Nobody has suspicions over who it might be?”

  Summer laughed. “There are plenty of suspicions and there are those who say that they know without a doubt who the father was.”

  “Maybe we should talk to them,” Reggie mused. “They have DNA tests that could prove it one way or another.”

  “Well, Dr. Manning is on that list as well as Marcus Blackwell’s father, Ms. Wilcox’s ex-husband, and Bernie the mechanic.”

  The laugh was out before Reggie could stop it. “Oh dear, I’m so sorry.” She tried to cover the shoulder shaking laugh with a cough but that just made the urge to laugh even more aggressive. “It’s not funny, I know.”

  But Summer was laughing now too. “Yeah it is. Don’t worry, Elsa thought it was funny too. She loved Meredith and they were so close, more like sisters than mother and daughter.”

  That sobered Reggie enough to talk again. “It must have been terrible to lose her mum so young.”

  “She took it hard,” Summer agreed. “But she wasn’t alone, she had us. John and me.”

  “Elsa was very lucky.” Reggie gave Summer’s hand a squeeze. “Now, did she have a cupboard or a drawer where she kept phone books or important documents? I suppose the police took her phone into evidence.”

  She wondered if maybe Detective Thornton might let her have a look at it, or at least take a look himself to see if Elsa had any other family besides an uncle she never met. He might have been the next of kin, but that didn’t mean there was no one else.

  Remembering the way he had unceremoniously told her to stay out away from the case, she wondered if maybe it would be better if Summer was the one to do the asking.

  “Why don’t I look in her room and you look in the kitchen drawers,” Reggie said. “I know I tend to keep paperwork and letters in the third and fourth draws, usually to be lost forevermore. Then we can pick a dress together.”

  If the house was Meredith’s domain, the bedroom was Elsa’s. Posters of fading pop stars with cocky grins covered nearly all the pink patterned wallpaper, and a dollhouse style duchess with matching cushioned stool sat in the far corner. Her bed was neatly made, and the room was tidy. When Reggie parted the curtains, the window looked out onto a charming little garden the seemed to have been created purely for her pleasure since it wouldn’t be visible from the road or paths.

  Stuck in the sides of the ornate mirror were photos of Elsa with Summer, Elsa with Summer and John, one of Summer and John standing side by side, Elsa with an older but similar featured woman who must have been Meredith. At the bottom corner there was a slightly faded photo of Elsa, Summer, and Mr. P
eterson, all three grinning. In the picture Elsa and Mr. Peterson Smiled into the camera, while Summer seemed to be laughing at something he’d said.

  She opened the draw. Right on top of a small pile of papers was a picture. It was private, since it was clearly put away, but the fact that it was face up, rather than face down meant that it was still important.

  The photo depicted Elsa and John standing very close. His arm was around her waist and he was smiling down at her as she laughed at something unseen. The picture made Reggie’s heart flutter at the warmth and pure joy these two exuded. There was something in the easiness and the happiness. These two were blissfully in love.

  But why didn’t Summer know? Why was this picture put away? Perhaps for the same reason Summer had turned John down in high school, Elsa and John had decided to keep their relationship a secret, so as not to hurt their friend.

  Reggie had already suspected that John might be Elsa’s boyfriend, but actually seeing the proof was jarring. Elsa had said she was going to his house the night she died. Assuming that’s what she did, John was probably the last person to see her alive.

  Should she call Detective Thornton? He had said that he didn’t need her help but surely finding new evidence was different.

  But was this evidence? What if she was mistaken? What if this was an old photo and it had been put in the draw because they’d broken up?

  Was it worth bringing suspicion onto John and probably hurting Summer over a maybe?

  She decided to keep the picture until she knew more. Perhaps when this was all over, John might like to have it.

  The draw held a few scraps of paper, a notebook that might have been the start of a diary, but it didn’t look like she filled in more than one day. That made Reggie smile ruefully, she had the same problem. Diaries always seemed so romantic but actually keeping one day after day was less exciting.

  There was one more thing in the draw. A small, well-crafted frame that probably used to be mounted on the duchess or perhaps on a mantel in the living room.

  She turned it over to see a picture of Elsa and Marcus Blackwell!

  The inner frame had jagged edges and in the bottom of the draw, Reggie noticed slivers of broken glass. It was as though the picture had been tossed, quite hard into the draw then covered over with other things so that Elsa would never have to see it again.