5

Hugh scooped up the roast-beef sandwich as he raced for the back door of the kitchen. “Thanks, Berdie.” He struggled to keep his flask of tea and small bag of crisps firmly gripped.

Berdie marveled at how Hugh kept going: first church, then eat-on-the-run lunch back to the hospital. “Now I know eating while driving can be tricky, besides having had little sleep, so please do be careful.” Berdie wiped her hands on her floral summer pinny. “Ring me if anything changes with Cedric.”

“Of course. I’ll see you at the hospital then when you’re done at the animal surgery?”

Berdie nodded. “Lillie and Loren should be here at any time.”

“Kind of them to take you.”

“Kind indeed.” Berdie threw open the back door for Hugh.

Hugh placed a rushed peck on Berdie’s cheek. “I’ll see you at the hospital.”

As Hugh departed, Berdie picked up the stack of Saturday post she had put aside yesterday and rifled through. “Mostly adverts and bills, of course.”

A postcard slipped out from amongst the envelopes. It was from Reverend Angela Rockledge, a woman with whom Berdie disagreed on almost any topic. They had met when Hugh attended seminary where Angela was a student as well. She and Berdie had engaged in many lively discussions, each taking the opposite end of the spectrum. Still, they had a certain regard for each other.

Berdie read the postcard. You’re invited to a lecture given by myself, to be held noon, Wednesday this week, at St. Paul’s, Slough. Spiritual Gifts and the Modern Woman. Q and A after. Love to see you there. Angie.

“Angie?” Berdie said out loud. “Go all the way to London to completely disagree? Nice of you to think of me, Angela, but I’m afraid this modern woman hasn’t the time.”

Berdie discarded the postcard in the kitchen rubbish bin, when she heard what sounded like a scramble on the stairway.

It reminded her that she must tell Doug and Tillie that roast-beef sandwiches, piled thick with fresh garden tomatoes on horseradish-slathered brown bread, awaited them along with a large bag of cheese-and-onion crisps, pickled onions, and Scotch eggs, if Tillie would permit.

She ran a critical eye over the tabletop where the sandwiches were plated up, ready. Not much of a Sunday lunch, but then she really was doing her exhausted best.

When Berdie opened the kitchen door and sprang into the hall, she nearly ran over Doug in his wheelchair being pushed by Tillie at full tilt.

“Oh.” Berdie placed her hand over her heart. “You gave me quite a turn.”

“Sorry, Mrs. Elliott,” Doug apologized.

“No bother. In fact, this is good timing. I’ve laid the table for your lunch. Just roast-beef sandwiches, I’m afraid.”

“We won’t be having lunch,” Tillie announced. “I just came to let you know we’re leaving.”

“Leaving? But you didn’t say. Still, I can wrap the sandwiches for later.”

“I appreciate your accommodation, but we won’t be here later. You see, we’ll be staying at Kirkwood Green B and B for the rest of our stay in the village.”

Berdie’s jaw went slack.

“I should have left altogether, but the authorities have asked we stay close.”

“Aside from poor Cedric,” Doug added.

“But why, why are you departing?”

Tillie already maneuvered the wheelchair back into the hall and began to scoot toward the front door.

Berdie followed. She spied the luggage stacked near the entryway. This must have been why Tillie hadn’t stayed at church.

“I should think I deserve some kind of explanation.” After the sharpish sentence flew from Berdie’s mouth, she realized she could have worded it much better.

Tillie pulled the wheelchair up short to turn and face Berdie, lips pursed. “All right then. It’s no longer good for my father to be in this place. Every moment is a reminder of that horrible explosion. The very site’s only yards away. Police in and out. It’s disturbing and it only aggravates everything he’s working to put behind him.”

Berdie could feel her own aggravation rising. “But changing a location doesn’t take care of the heart of the problem.”

Tillie’s jaw set. Her long blonde hair looked almost white as her face went red. “Do you have any idea what the heart of the problem really is? You haven’t even an inkling of what my father has endured.” She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. “This whole situation is a dog’s dinner.” She reopened them and set them squarely on Berdie. “Putting it in easily understood terms, I should think you’d realize that once you’ve been scalded by the hot water, you don’t stay in the bath.”

Berdie could see this conversation had gone completely pear-shaped. Being sleep deprived didn’t do any favors for either of them. “Tillie.”

The vicarage doorbell cut into the exchange.

“That’s our cab,” Tillie spewed.

Berdie raced ahead and placed herself between the door and the wheelchair and took an entirely different tack. “I got hold of Avril.”

Tillie stopped her forward progress. “When does she arrive?” she snapped.

“Avril’s abroad.” Berdie eked the words out. “I’m afraid I have no certainty she’ll be coming.”

Tillie shook her head. “Please move.”

This was no way to end a visit, cab or not. “I’m sorry you feel this way.” Berdie looked at the now-somber man, who had been so lively and engaged at church. “Doug?”

He returned her gaze. “We appreciate all you’ve done for us.” He turned his eyes away. “But Tillie’s got a point. For all our sakes, it’s best to go.”

Tillie gripped the wheelchair handles with such ferocity her knuckles went white. “Now, if you please, Mrs. Elliott, move out of the way. Our taxi’s waiting.”

Berdie still held her back against the door. “Can we talk about this?”

Tillie’s red face hardened as she nudged the wheelchair forward, nearly flattening Berdie’s toe.

Berdie’s strength to pursue the issue took a knockout blow. In what felt a defenseless gesture, she moved aside from the door.

“Thank you,” Doug offered. He took Berdie’s hand and squeezed it. “Thank you.”

Berdie was a sail that had lost all its wind.

Tillie thrust the door open.

“Cab,” Granville Morrison announced with sunshine.

“Get the suitcases please,” Tillie briskly commanded. “And mind how you go. Don’t dawdle.”

“As you say.” Granville, large frame standing nearly at attention, stepped inside.

“Yes. Well, we’ll be in touch then.” Berdie, still rather stunned, watched Tillie push Doug through the doorway with noticeable displeasure.

“Hello, Mrs. Elliott.” Granville tipped his head and eyed the bags. “This lot will take two trips, I daresay.”

“Yes,” Berdie said absently.

“You OK?” Granville clutched a couple bags.

Berdie took a breath. “Yes, thank you, Granville, just a bit sad to see our guests go.”

“Well, that one seems eager to push off. No great loss from what I can see.”

“She’s momentarily out of sorts,” Berdie breathed.

“Any word on the general?”

“General? Oh, the commander. Sadly, the commander’s condition hasn’t changed, but he is still with us.”

“Sorry to hear his dog’s going to get put down. The beast done well, he surely did.”

Aidan Kirkwood’s ability to transmit word about in record time never ceased to amaze Berdie. “Yes.” She nodded.

Granville left, struggling with the heavy bags.

Berdie hadn’t yet considered what scuttlebutt could be churning at the Copper Kettle, Aidan Kirkwood’s tiny tea shop that was gossip central. And she knew all recent vicarage events were the topic of conversation at the local pub, the Upland Arms, without stepping foot in the place.

Granville returned and took the rest of the bags. “Salute the old soldier for me and my missus, if you don’t mind, when you send the dog off.”

“Yes. And God go with you.”

It was then Berdie realized that there would now be even more tittle-tattle over scones and clotted cream. Granville would surely tell his wife, Polly, about the rancorous departure of Doug and Tillie from the vicarage. And Polly would tell her best friend, Mary Rose, who in turn would tell Villette Horn, her sister and the owner of the tea shop. And there it was. Everything would be for public consumption along with steaming tea. “This village goes one better than e-mail.” Berdie sank onto an oak-wood step of the stairs in the hallway.

“Hello, Dr. Meredith, Miss Foxworth.”

Berdie heard Granville’s greeting and looked out the still-open door to see Loren and Lillie approach the entry.

“The angels are departing?” Lillie’s smile went limp when she eyed Berdie closely.

“You look as if you need a cup of stout tea,” Dr. Loren Meredith said in his most gentle of ways. His shoulder-length hair, pulled back and banded at the nape of his neck, though black, was graying at the temples. And it called attention to his smoky brown eyes that seemed full of empathy at the moment.

“I should think I do, actually.” She glanced at the clock. “But we really haven’t the time.”

“Are you sure seeing this dog off is necessary? I mean, you didn’t really ever take to it.” Dr. Meredith offered his hand to help Berdie rise from her position.

Berdie placed her fingers in his and stood. “It’s important, Loren. Yesterday we had several guests. Today we have none. I’m all out today on the art of difficult conversation. Perhaps I can get it right with a silent tribute to a departing service dog.”

“You sound absolutely maudlin.” Lillie didn’t mince words.

“Not maudlin so much as just letting tired get the better of me.”

“Well, we’ll have to put a stop to that, for a start.”

Thank God for her dear friend. Berdie smiled. “Oh yes?” She stood a little straighter.

“Right. You’re not yourself, so carry on this afternoon. Go to bed early this evening and sleep well. Tomorrow you can properly sort apples from pears.”

Berdie now chuckled. “Say, speaking of apples, there’s some roast-beef sandwiches on the kitchen table just ready to eat. Interested?”

“I’ll get them,” Loren offered.

“They need cling film.”

“Any tea in the pot?” Loren asked.

Berdie nodded.

“Well, get that pinny off and let’s go to the car. We’ve a dog to see off,” Lillie charged.

While Berdie removed the apron, Lillie started to the door and stopped. “Hello,” she said with familiarity. “I’m sorry. We were just leaving.”

“I know,” Milton Butz said.

Berdie looked out the door to see Milton and his twin sister, Martha, on the front step.

“Hello, Miss Foxworth,” Martha greeted. “Mrs. Elliott. We’re aware that you’re going to say goodbye to the commander’s dog.” Martha’s short brown curls surrounded the face that Berdie always felt looked middle-aged, even at fourteen. “If we may impose…”

“My sister and me want to go to see the dog off, like.”

Martha wrinkled her nose in consternation. “Milty. My sister and I.”

“I see.” Berdie put the apron on the pub-mirror peg rail and stood by Lillie.

“Our father has given us permission to go if we’re not imposing on you,” Martha finished. “We’ll be respectful, honestly.”

“Da said we couldn’t go if we’re going to blub like babies, so don’t worry. We won’t blub.”

“Everyone’s entitled to be sad,” Lillie interjected.

Milton shifted his weight. “Our cousin Steven is in the military. He’s over there, you know.” Milton jerked his head as if signaling a specific direction.

“Afghanistan,” Martha amended.

“His guys have bomb-sniffing dogs. He’s told us about them in letters. Pretty wicked.”

“Wicked?” Berdie queried.

“He means he appreciates the brave heroics the dogs perform.” Martha apparently was Milton’s interpreter.

“Steven’s birthday is the same day as our big sister, Lucy.” Milton was, it seemed, making an effort at small talk in an attempt to win a favorable reaction to them coming along.

“That’s interesting,” Lillie responded with a grin.

Milton looked at his sister and back to Berdie. “So, can we go?”

Loren’s steps clipped in the hall and he arrived with the bagged sandwiches plus a small flask of tea.

“Here’s our driver.” Berdie turned to Loren. “Milton and Martha would like to say goodbye to Sparks with us.”

Loren eyed Berdie, who gave a quick wink.

“All aboard.” Loren pulled the car keys from his pocket.

****

Berdie had not expected the emotional struggle that plagued her now.

Nor had she expected Milton and Martha on the drive over to the vet’s to bang on, regaling everyone with stories of the amazing heroics performed by military service dogs, as described to them in letters from their cousin Steven.

Loren jumped into the conversation as well. “We had a patient in poor health at the hospital that made a real turn round when his Jack Russell terrier was allowed to visit him. Quite extraordinary.”

And now, despite the strong tea she drank in the car, here they all stood, and she just, in the operating room of the surgery.

Sparks lay motionless on his side before all assembled, the hero of mighty deeds and now a lonely figure on the operating table: solemn, rib cage bound, leg casted, spotted burns, and innumerable facial cuts with butterfly bandages holding things together. Berdie was questioning if termination of the animal was truly the right thing to do, despite his condition.

“Now we can say our piece on Sparks’s behalf. Then we’ll leave to let the doctor do her job.” Berdie labored to sound convincing.

“Is there internal bleeding?” Loren asked.

“No, surprisingly. Bruising, but no acute internal bleeding as such.” Dr. Stoddard’s massive gloved hands prepared the hypodermic, her white lab coat starchy white.

Should a bull charge Dr. Stoddard, Berdie was confident the big-boned woman would win the challenge, no contest. Small wonder she was well respected for her work with large farm animals as well as the small pets. And in minutes she would finish her work with Sparks.

“Is he in horrible pain? He looks in pain.” Milton eyed the dog’s leg.

The vet adjusted her black-framed glasses. “Medication helps relieve some of his suffering.”

Berdie found her thoughts flying off her tongue. “Would it be cruel to keep him alive?”

Dr. Stoddard stopped her needle preparation. She stared at Berdie, and then glanced at the children and back to Berdie. “Do we have reservations?”

There was a light rap at the door and an assistant poked his head in. “Someone else here to see Sparks.”

Berdie turned to see Mrs. Limb with Emmy and Max. “I hope you don’t mind. We won’t stay but a moment.” Mrs. Limb clipped the words and tautly looked round at all gathered. “They just want to tell the dog goodbye. He may have saved their lives, you know.”

The doctor nodded.

Max rushed to the table where Sparks lay.

The dog struggled to lift his head, as if in welcome, and the young lad gently laid his hand on the top of it. “Thank you, Sparks,” he whispered. He moved his hand in measured strokes down the animal’s neck. “Don’t worry. I’ll never forget you.”

Berdie felt salty wet gather in her eyes. This was just a bit too much.

Loren’s mobile phone broke into the moment when it sang out without respect for the proceedings. “So sorry,” he offered and stepped outside the door.

“He got off easy,” Lillie quipped in Berdie’s ear and offered Berdie a tissue from her bag.

Berdie took it and then glanced at Milton and Martha, who stood sharp as soldiers, completely stoic.

Emmy stepped to Max’s side. She took her brother’s hand and stood on tiptoe to touch Sparks’s paw that protruded from the cast. “I’ll miss you, Sparks.”

“OK, children, we must go now.” Mrs. Limb’s voice cracked.

Emmy and Max walked hand in hand back to Mrs. Limb, their faces rather downcast.

“Thank you,” Mrs. Limb addressed the doctor. “Sorry to have disturbed.”

Berdie, so caught up in present events, was prodded past what was before her to a moment of realization that this was an opportune time to catch Mrs. Limb and speak with her. She turned. “Mrs. Limb, if I may…”

The woman and little ones were already gone.

“When she said just for a moment, she meant it almost literally,” Lillie remarked.

Berdie half frowned. “I’ll just have to make a point to find her. She always seems in such a rush.”

Loren reentered the room. “Dr. Stoddard, may I have a word with you?”

“What is it?”

“In private?”

The woman lifted her brow and moved from the table to enter the hall with Loren.

“What do you suppose that’s all about?” Lillie’s inquiry sounded completely rhetorical.

And good thing, because Berdie certainly hadn’t a clue.

“Should we proceed?” Martha asked. “I have a poem I wrote for Sparks, you see.”

Berdie wanted to cut Martha short and tell her that she’d had quite enough with this whole affair, but knew it would be completely unacceptable to do so. “Let’s wait for Dr. Stoddard,” Berdie delayed.

“It’s a good poem,” Milton amended.

It was then Berdie noticed that Martha held a miniature British flag on a stick, the kind children wave when celebrating a royal visit. She had a vision of Martha holding the flag high in the air and reading “Ode to the Departing Hero Dog” with great sentiment when Dr. Stoddard lumbered through the door and straight to the table. “Anyone here in a position to care for Sparks?”

“What?” This seemed to be the day for unexpected turns. For the second time today, Berdie’s jaw dropped.

“He’ll require near-constant care. Pain medication is expensive.” Dr. Stoddard put a hand on her hip. “I’ll throw some in for good measure, gratis, for a week only, mind you. Poor creature thought he’d finally rest after giving all for king and country, and now this.” Dr. Stoddard patted Sparks. “There’s absolutely no room going spare here at the surgery. And there’s no guaranteed recovery. Having said all that, can anyone help?”

Berdie felt a knot in her stomach.

The twins exchanged glances. “We’ll take him,” Milton declared.

“Milty. We can’t say that.” Martha’s eyes bounced to the veterinarian. “We have to talk to our father.”

Milton whipped an iPhone from his pocket. “Lucy’s,” he declared. “I borrowed it for just this very reason.”

“Does Lucy know you have it?” Martha frowned. “She’ll hang you up by your toes.”

“I’m ringing Da up right now.”

“What’s happened, Doctor?” Lillie looked as perplexed as Berdie felt.

Loren came next to Lillie.

“Ask him,” the vet said, shuffling tools about on her tray, demonstrating a slight annoyance at the disruption in her procedure.

“If, and that’s a big if, someone volunteers to care for the dog and pay for his treatment, the hospital has approved Sparks to visit the commander.”

“How did that come about?” Berdie stuck the tissue in her skirt pocket.

“Ask your husband.” Loren smiled. “He heard the story of the little Jack Russell terrier as well and took it to those in charge. Seeing as the daughter seems to be a no-show, there’s a certain compassion with it.”

Milton, whose phone conversation contained repeated “Please, Da?” and “We promise we’ll take care of him,” raised his left thumb upright, as in victory, his smile a half-moon.

“My assistant will have a printout for you of all the home care Sparks needs. And he’ll require at least forty-eight hours’ complete rest, mind you, before any hospital outings.”

“Brilliant,” Martha gushed.

Brilliant indeed, Berdie thought to herself and released a rather prolonged sigh, realizing she was off the hook.

****

Berdie relished the dappled sky and cool breeze that flirted with her cheek. “Lovely morning.”

Lillie rubbed her arms covered by a jumper. “A cold edge in that wind, I’d say. Just because you’ve had a proper night’s sleep, the commander keeps holding on, and the Butz family is seeing to Sparks doesn’t now make the world a piece of apple pie.”

“That’s not what I said.” Berdie stepped lively as she and Lillie walked the High Street, where busy shops opened their doors to welcome a new day. They were making way to the Copper Kettle where strong, hot tea awaited them. “It’s just I’ve set on a plan.”

“Really?” Lillie’s hazel-green eyes sparked. “You’re on to who’s responsible for the explosion.”

“Oh my, no. The pieces of this mysterious puzzle lie scattered about me yet. I’m afraid my detecting head is still reeling.”

“Surely not.”

“Well, I tried to order the events of the actual tragedy this morning, and even that was a bit hazy.”

“Go on.”

“Simply put, the dog sat, Doug shouted, the commander sent the children back to me, as a precaution, I expect…”

“What?” Lillie frowned. “Sparks gave the signal, right? Why would the commander proceed at all?”

“I’ve given it some thought. First, Cedric knew Sparks’s nose was damaged. He may have given little thought to his sitting, especially here in a sleepy rural village, let alone at a vicarage in a church vehicle. What were the chances something tragic would occur? He simply underestimated the possibilities, I reckon.”

“We all know better now.” Lillie increased the pace. “Rather frightening, all of this.”

“Yes, well, Jasper Kent’s on the job. Very capable. Not so sure about Brice. But I’ve decided to leave them alone to do their work.”

Berdie switched her market bag to her other hand as some unidentifiable twinge wiggled in the back of her brain. “Mind you, Peter Brice is a bit brisk for my liking. But still, with Chief Inspector Kent, they’ll sort the crime.”

“I don’t believe for a moment that you’re not interested in the investigation.”

“Of course I’m interested, Lillie. Does sausage sizzle? Should Kent ask, I’m available, though I shouldn’t tell Hugh that. No, this plan I’m about is something altogether different. I hatched the scheme for it yesterday in church.”

“Should you be hatching schemes in church?”

“That’s not the point. Besides, I sat in the pew seat behind the column. It lends itself to creative thinking.”

“Ah, yes. So what’s this scheme then?”

The distant shop bell of Raheem’s Greengrocer tickled Berdie’s ears as Maggie Fairchild, a member of the church-garden committee, departed the store and called out. “Mrs. Elliott, Miss Foxworth, good morning.”

Maggie held the hem of her dress close to her thin body for modesty’s sake against a breezy bluster and scurried cross the road to Berdie’s side. “Have you a moment?”

“What is it, Maggie?”

“I just wanted to inquire how the commander’s doing.”

“I went to the hospital yesterday afternoon,” Berdie informed. “He’s not improved, but then he’s not gotten worse either.”

“Poor soul.”

“Hugh says he’s hanging on as if by sheer will.”

“Well, he’s waiting for his daughter to arrive, isn’t he? Yes, he clings on for her sake.”

Berdie started. “Do you know his daughter?”

Maggie slipped out a slight chuckle. “My heavens, no, Mrs. Elliott.”

Berdie’s inquisitive stare prompted Maggie to explain.

“It’s just that I was at the Copper Kettle earlier this morning, and Villette happened to say that the commander and his daughter weren’t getting on when last together.”

Berdie threw a glance at Lillie. “Villette told you that.”

Maggie nodded.

“What else did Villette happen to say?” Berdie made sure her tongue was quite civil.

“Well, frankly, I should think we’ll all sleep better when that fellow is in Constable Goodnight’s custody.”

“What fellow?”

“The one, you know, that threatened the commander at a lakeside picnic. What did she say his name was? Chandler? Chadwick?”

Berdie stood ramrod-straight. “And did Villette tell you who or what her source of information was?”

“Why, it was one of your”—Maggie glanced down, then back to Berdie—“former guests, as a matter of fact, the nice young lady with the long blonde hair that’s now staying at the B and B. She and her father had tea at the Copper Kettle yesterday afternoon.”

“Really? And what exactly did Villette say about this fellow, Chadwick?”

Maggie’s eyes enlarged. “Well, he hurled monstrous threats at the gentleman.” She lowered her voice. “Demise was apparently mentioned.” Maggie rubbed her index finger against her market bag. “Oh, I do hope they catch him quickly. It’s unnerving to think someone like that is about in our community.”

Berdie put a hand on the woman’s shoulder. “You needn’t worry, Maggie. First of all, he’s not staying in Aidan Kirkwood, so breathe easy. But more importantly, there is no clear evidence that Chadwick had anything to do with the commander’s assault. Threats are not acts. Besides, that rather lies in the hands of the authorities to sort. Wouldn’t you agree? And we have some very capable investigators at work as we speak, who, I’m sure, can bring a quick resolution to the whole affair.”

Maggie’s face lit with relief.

“I needn’t remind you, Maggie, that Villette most likely earwigged the conversation. And oft-repeated words can escalate to a whole new height of misinformation.”

“Oh yes.” Maggie nodded. “Oh yes. I shan’t say any more to anyone about all this.”

“Wisest thing, really.” Berdie could see the sincerity in Maggie’s rather guileless face.

“No question,” Lillie agreed.

Maggie eyed the market bag Berdie held. “May I ask, Mrs. Elliott, are you planning a stop at Mr. Raheem’s shop?”

“Yes.” Berdie hoped to retrieve the rest of her produce order that Sundeep had failed to deliver.

“After a cuppa.” Lillie pointed toward the tea shop that was home to imprudent lips.

Maggie leaned a bit closer to Berdie and Lillie. “I must say, Mr. Raheem seems a bit distracted.”

“That’s odd,” Lillie piped.

“Yes. That’s why I noticed it so. I asked him for King Edward potatoes and he gave me goldens. And then when he weighed my cherries, he gave me two pounds instead of three like I asked.”

“He may have something on his mind,” Berdie suggested.

“Yes.” Maggie sighed. “Well, I suppose none of us are ourselves with all this to-do happening in the church garden.”

“Yes.” Berdie knew that only too well.

“We will continue to pray for the commander and for restored family harmony.” Maggie smiled. “Must get on. Thank you, Mrs. Elliott.”

“God go with you.” Berdie watched Maggie make way.

“My, how word gets round.” Lillie wrapped her arms round her torso. “I’m ready for that cup of tea.”

“Oh, I’m ready for that and more,” Berdie thundered. “Frightening poor Maggie like that, to say nothing of trial and conviction of Leftenant Chad Meryl. I shouldn’t wonder if Villette’s ears are absolutely burning her madly. They’re about to get a very large flea in them.”