We entered the churchyard and immediately Mum plunged down a narrow path between two lines of moss-covered headstones.
“Where are you going?” I exclaimed.
“Have you seen how old some of these headstones are?” Mum yelled over her shoulder. “It’s like everyone from below stairs is buried over here.” She foraged around for a good five minutes before working her way back.
“They’re all there,” she said. “Stark, Cropper, Pugsley, Banks and Jones. I saw the same names in those photographs in the downstairs loo at the Hall. I was looking at them whilst her ladyship was changing into her gown. They date back to the 1880s, you know.”
“You mean the loyalty portraits.” I’d been as fascinated as my mother at the formal tableaus of the Honeychurch family and their staff—all in uniform—through the decades.
“Didn’t you mention something about Parish registers?” said Mum.
“Edith did. She told me that if they were still in the church they would be in the Parish chest in the vestry.”
“Let’s do that after we’ve spoken to Shawn,” said Mum. “Just imagine seeing the name of everyone who was born, married and died over the last five centuries or so.”
“It makes our life seem rather insignificant, doesn’t it?”
“Speak for yourself,” said Mum.
As we rounded the stone buttress of the Norman church, Mum saw Fred’s wheelbarrow blocking the path.
“So that’s where Fred Jarvis dropped dead,” said Mum.
“I heard Muriel say that she couldn’t face moving the wheelbarrow.”
Mum scanned the area. “And that’s where he’s been buried—oh, Kat. That’s what your father used to say to me. ‘You’ll miss me when I’m gone.’ And I do. I really do.”
I gave my mother a hug. “I know. I do, too. But come on, let’s find Shawn and get this over and done with.”
As we left the churchyard, Shawn emerged from the post office with DC Banks. Shawn was holding a white scarf. He tucked it inside his trench coat.
“Morning, Officer,” said Mum. “Can I have a quick word with you?” She glanced over at DC Banks and added, “In private.”
DC Banks nodded. “I’ll wait in the car.” His heavy beard seemed even heavier than usual today. I felt like all he needed was to clamp a cutlass between his teeth and put on an eye patch.
“Are you going to confess?” said Shawn.
Mum’s eyes widened. “Confess to what?”
“It was a joke.” Shawn looked at me and actually winked. It was so unlike him to have a sense of humor I was momentarily taken off-guard.
“Oh. Very funny,” said Mum.
“Let’s go back inside,” Shawn suggested.
I followed them into the post office. This was something I was determined to witness.
“And what can I do for you, Iris?” said Shawn.
“I left something of mine in here yesterday,” said Mum. I gave her an encouraging nod. “About five pages—just a list of furniture.”
I gave a heavy sigh.
“I’m trying to get a new quote for house insurance.” She smiled broadly. “It was accidentally attached to my shopping list. I came in here and got chatting as one does, and it was only this morning that I realized I must have left it somewhere here. Do you mind if I take a look around?”
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible.”
“Please can you make an exception?” said Mum. “Some of the items on the list were very valuable. Do you remember that gold necklace, Kat?”
I didn’t answer. I was too annoyed.
“It sounds like whoever took that money and also Muriel’s jewelry is a professional,” Mum went on. “And what with her car being stolen.”
“Ah! The stolen car.” Shawn brought out his pad and presumably made a note of it.
“Have you searched Muriel’s flat yet? Upstairs, perhaps?”
Shawn looked surprised. “Did you go upstairs?”
“Oh. Yes.” Mum nodded. “Yes I did. I popped up there for a quick cup of tea. Didn’t I, Kat? Remember?”
“I have no idea,” I said wearily.
“The kitchen is downstairs,” said Shawn. “The bedrooms are upstairs.”
“Oh yes, that’s right. I was getting confused for a moment.” Mum flashed one of her too-bright smiles.
“Have you asked Muriel if she found this very important list?”
“Not yet. She’s seemed too distressed, which is why I thought I would take a quick look myself.”
“She’s still with Pippa Carmichael,” said Shawn. “Why don’t you go next door and ask her.”
“I don’t want to bother her,” Mum said. “But I’m quite sure she won’t mind.”
“I’m afraid the answer is still no, Iris.” Shawn turned to me. “Can we speak alone for a moment? Outside?”
Mum looked worried. “What about?”
“Nothing that concerns you,” said Shawn lightly.
“Okay.” I suddenly felt self-conscious about my appearance.
“I’ll stay here,” said Mum.
“I don’t think so.” We trooped after Shawn, who motioned for DC Banks to stay with my mother.
“I don’t need a guard, you know,” she grumbled. “I’m not six.”
Shawn gently took my arm. “Let’s just pop down there.” He led me into the narrow passage between Muriel’s post office and Violet’s cottage. We had to step over mounds of dead roses. The wall looked awful with its broken trellis and cracked, graying brickwork.
Shawn stopped halfway down the passageway. It was dingy, dank and smelled of moss.
To my surprise, my heart began to pound. I couldn’t remember ever being in such an enclosed space with Shawn. He was making me nervous. “Is everything okay?”
Shawn withdrew the white scarf.
I remembered Harry hadn’t been wearing it yesterday. “That’s Harry’s, isn’t it?” I said. “Where did you find it?”
“Behind the post office counter. He must have dropped it.”
The implication was clear. “I don’t believe it of Harry.”
“I tend to agree with you, but I’d like you to talk to him just the same.”
“Why me?” I exclaimed. “He does have parents, you know.”
“You’re good with Harry,” said Shawn.
“Alright, but I am quite sure he wouldn’t have taken money or jewelry. Muriel just mentioned sweets.”
“I know she did,” said Shawn.
“And if anything, I would think Max Carmichael is the one who is leading Harry astray.”
And Harry could be so easily led. I knew how much it meant to him to be part of the gang at his new school. I also thought of how he looked up to his uncle Piers, who was definitely not a good example if his blatant disregard for the burial site in Cromwell Meadows was anything to go by.
“Violet Green claims that she sees the boys loitering in the churchyard at all hours of the night—”
“That does surprise me!” I exclaimed. “Harry hates the dark.”
“Maybe he’s grown out of it,” said Shawn mildly. “I’m on Harry’s side, Kat. Talk to Pippa Carmichael as well. She’s your friend, isn’t she? Just find out where they were on Thursday night.”
“Of course I’ll speak to him. But I don’t think it’s right that I speak to Pippa about her son. That’s your domain.”
Shawn paused for a moment before taking a deep breath. “But there’s something else.” He cleared his throat. “I wanted to tell you why I haven’t been in touch these past few weeks.”
“Oh.” I felt my face grow hot. “Honestly. You don’t need to explain anything. Really.”
“No! I must tell you. I want to.”
A flash of movement caught my eye. I looked over Shawn’s shoulder and saw Violet duck back behind the net curtain in her cottage. Startled, I jumped, making Shawn leap back and hit the wall.
“Yes, we are being watched,” I said.
“All I wanted to say was that I am working on a special case at the moment with New Scotland Yard.”
“That sounds intriguing,” I said. “I suppose that’s all you’re going to tell me, too.”
“I’m afraid so,” he said. “I just didn’t want you to think that I was ignoring you—”
I felt oddly pleased.
“And when I haven’t been working,” Shawn went on, “I’ve got the boys—”
“Of course,” I said. “I understand.”
“But I really want to see you again, Kat.” He regarded me with such intensity that my stomach turned over. “Would you be able to have a drink with me this evening?” He must have seen something in my expression, because he gave a rueful smile. “Okay, okay. I know I’ve canceled before, but—”
“Why don’t you call me later on this afternoon,” I said.
“I will. I’m ninety-nine percent positive tonight will work. My mother-in-law has the twins every Friday.”
There was a sudden explosion of frenzied barking coming from the churchyard opposite. I recognized that distinctive bark anywhere.
“What’s Mr. Chips doing here?”
“Shawn! Shawn! Where are you?” came a shout. DC Banks peered around the corner. “What are you doing down there?”
“We’re having a meeting,” mumbled Shawn. “What seems to be the problem?”
“That little Jack Russell has made a discovery, sir. He’s in the churchyard. Come and see.”
At the mouth of the passageway I could see my mother waving from the other side of the churchyard wall. She was with Alfred. “It’s here! Right here!”
We joined them at Fred Jarvis’s graveside, where, to all of our astonishment, stood Mr. Chips with a very muddy nose. Alfred reached down and fondled the little dog’s ears.
Peeping out from the earth was the top of an old biscuit tin.