11

“Seconds, anyone, more strawberry mousse?” Berdie queried.

“I got it, I did,” Batty Natty squealed and placed the two-dotted domino flush against the two-dotted domino on the games table. “I’m on a winner,” she giggled.

“Indeed,” Carl Braunhoff said, “you are.”

“No thank you, Mrs. Elliott”—Barbara held up her hand—“the mousse was excellent, but I’m full to bursting.”

“There are no more dominoes,” Natty interrupted and moved her hands over the table space nearest her. “Oh dear.”

“That’s right, Natty.” Carl pointed to the dominoes in play. “You played the last one. You’ve won the game.”

Natty gasped. “Oh, I say,” she offered with a very large grin, “isn’t that a treat? I’ve won.”

Carl half smirked and drew the dominoes into a heap.

“Again, again,” Natty sputtered while clapping her aging hands in soft pats.

“You should buy a ticket for the pools, Natty, love,” Berdie cheered and put the empty dessert dishes on her tray.

“Another game then,” Barbara announced with less than enthusiasm.

“I’ll just finish tidying up,” Berdie excused.

She entered the lowly lit kitchen, where the sound of the dishwasher sloshed its happy way through its evening-with-guests workout.

She carefully placed the crystal dessert dishes in a sink laden with suds and wiped the tray.

Events have certainly taken an unexpected turn this evening, Berdie thought. Half the crowd gone, there were just a few that stayed on to enjoy afters and one another’s company. Even Lillie scurried home early, only after agreeing to meet Berdie at the Copper Kettle in the morning.

Feeling in need of a quiet moment, Berdie poured herself a cup of tea, added a splash of milk plus a teaspoon of sugar, and sat at the small kitchen table by the window. The cool of evening air filtered through the open window and soothed her busy-hostess warmth. She was just able to make out a familiar voice coming from the back terrace.

“I noticed you put that CD in the player. It’s the newest Annaclare. Is it yours?” Sandra asked.

“You’re familiar with Annaclare?” Doug sounded unusually relaxed.

“She’s just my absolute favorite.”

“Oh. Mine as well.”

Sandra began to sing in clear tone what sounded to be a Scottish air with a contemporary edge, “In the ebb and flow of love that lies from you to me.” She paused.

“We dance in the waves,” Doug added in a strangled voice.

“For the sea will always be the sea,” they sang in unison, then laughed together unapologetically.

Berdie thought it rather sweet. There was a momentary hesitation, and she wondered if this was the point where Doug would nonchalantly slip his arm onto the back of Sandra’s chair.

“I love late-spring evenings. Isn’t it a lovely night?” Sandra’s voice was as light as whipped butter.

“Truthfully?” Doug asked. “Give me the bright light of day anytime.”

“Even on a beautiful moonlit night like tonight?”

“Even on a beautiful moonlit night like tonight. The dark is an unwelcomed companion.”

Berdie could hear Doug stir a bit.

“Sometimes it feels like morning will never arrive.” His voice was hushed.

Berdie remembered his torment the night of the explosion.

“I discovered an antidote to wrestling with the dark, well, sleeplessness,” Sandra said.

“And what is that?”

“I sneak out to the garden and gaze at the stars. Their diamond sparkle trumps the dark,” she lilted. “The Creator Himself is visible in the twinkling skies, you know. It’s very calming.”

“I’ve never thought of it that way.”

“Oh yes, nights can be glorious,” Sandra buzzed. “Did you know that God calls the stars by name?"

“Is that so?”

“Yes.” Sandra had a playful edge to her words. “Now, take that little one, just there near the horizon. Perhaps that one’s Shirley.”

Doug chuckled and Sandra joined him.

Berdie leaned toward the window.

“Shirley, you say. Well then, I fancy that one over there could be Bob.”

The two now gently laughed, and there was a pause.

“I can tell you this,” Doug said. “This grand, bright one, right overhead, do you see it?”

“Oh yes.”

“It must be called Sandra.”

Berdie shook her head and grinned at Doug’s gallant attempt to be romantic. But it mattered little what she thought. Would Sandra find it off-putting, or perhaps charming? Berdie heard Sandra give a slight titter.

“I made you blush.” Doug went on. “Did you know Annaclare is in concert this Sunday evening in Timsley?”

“Is she?”

“I have tickets. Two tickets,” Doug declared. “I thought for Tillie to come, but she’s not a fan and cried off. So…”

“Yes, I’d love to,” Sandra jumped in.

“Sunday night then.”

Without warning, footsteps lumbered in from the hall and the full dazzle of white kitchen light flicked on.

“Natty’s begun to doze between turns at dominoes, and I’m seeing little white dots before my eyes. I think it’s time we all went home,” Barbara Braunhoff said with voluble zip.

Berdie drew up from the table, half wanting to shush Barbara so she could continue listening to the love story developing out her window and half agreeing with Barbara’s suggestion.

“I’ve some hot tea ready if you’d care for a cuppa before you go,” Berdie responded.

“I shouldn’t think so.” Barbara smiled. “It’s really quite time for us to move along.”

Doug and Sandra entered the kitchen by the back door.

“Is Aunt Natty tiring?” Sandra asked Barbara.

“Her dominoes victory has left her knackered, I’d say.”

“I’m sure she’s enjoyed your company, both you and Carl. Let me thank you on her behalf.” Sandra hurried through the kitchen, Doug trailing behind her.

“We treasure Natty.” Barbara opened the kitchen door to the hallway for the two stargazers.

“Thank you for entertaining us,” Sandra directed to Berdie.

Berdie sighed, wishing for their sakes that Sandra and Doug could have had just a bit more time alone together, but they had Sunday evening. “So very pleased you came.”

“It’s been wonderful.” Doug had a special sparkle in his eye.

“I’m glad to take Doug, Mr. Devlin, to his lodgings,” Sandra volunteered. “And I’ll tuck Aunt Natty in as soon as I get her home, of course.”

“Yes, very good. Thank you, Sandra. I’m sorry things were cut short at dinner,” Berdie apologized.

“Oh, not at all. As it turns out, it was all quite wonderful.” Sandra grinned.

Berdie saw her guests to the door. Doug, Sandra, and Natty were gone when Carl paused before stepping out into the moonlit night.

“Thank you, Mrs. Elliott. And well done. Good memories were made in the back garden tonight to replace tarnished ones from recent events.”

“Thank you for saying so, Carl.” Berdie truly appreciated this shy, gentle giant. “God go with you.”

As she watched Carl and Barbara launch out on Church Road to begin their walk home, Berdie looked back on the evening. It created a fine memory, yes, but full of surprises at every turn. Chad’s pluck, that ominous book Cloak of Deception, Tillie’s fresh take on the commander with a “doing-himself-in” suggestion, Doug and Sandra finding their way to one another, and then there was the interrupted meal with Avril’s arrival and her man in tow.

“Indeed,” Berdie breathed, “God go with us all, wherever the road may now be heading.”

****

Berdie held the closed umbrella against her spring-blue cardigan that chased away the morning chill and eyed the sky while making her way down the High Street. Last night had been so clear, but the light of day brought sagging gray clouds and a distinct scent that spoke of coming rain.

“Mrs. Elliott.” A fellow villager nodded to Berdie, wearing a slight smirk as he passed her. She wondered if that smirk was significant.

Hugh’s plans for the day meant Berdie could get on with her own activities, apart from visiting the commander in hospital this afternoon.

Hugh mentioned he would call at the home of Mrs. Hall by way of going to hospital. Village accounts had her in dreadful pain that needed further oral surgery, a discouraging development that Hugh hoped to ease. Berdie wondered if Mrs. Hall’s nephew, Mr. Stuart Hall, would buy his Aunt Dora another posy of flowers to ease the news as well. The rest of Hugh’s day would be divided between time with Cedric and another rowing practice.

At the moment, not only Lillie, but also steaming tea and fresh morning rolls awaited at the Copper Kettle. It was a relished opportunity to process information with her dear Watson. Berdie’s investigative mind was gaining momentum.

Boyish laughter pulled her attention across the road where Milton Butz and Kevin McDermott had heads together. Whispers ensued.

What on earth are those two rogues about? Berdie wondered.

When the two saw her, they took steps to cross the road in Berdie’s direction.

“Hello, Mrs. Elliott,” Milton greeted. His sunshine stood in stark contrast to the gray sky.

“Hello, lads.” Berdie smiled. She halted. “Isn’t it time you were in school?”

“We are,” Kevin offered. “That is to say, we’re running an errand for Mr. Dud Head.” Kevin wrapped his hand over his mouth.

“He means Mr. Dudham, our science teacher,” Milton explained. “We were using isopropyl alcohol as part of a before-school lab experiment, and Cassie Lewis spilled the lot.”

“It went everywhere.” Kevin spread his arms out. “The entire room will be ashes if there’s even a hint of flame anywhere.”

“So, Mr. Dudham sent us to Joe’s DIY to get some powder to soak it up and more alcohol so everyone can try the experiment again.”

“I see.” Berdie glanced in the direction of the shop to which they were going and then at the two boys. Stillness followed—odd for these two.

“Go on, Milty,” Kevin urged. He nodded toward Berdie.

Milton wrinkled his nose at Kevin. “OK. Hold your horses.”

Berdie lifted her brows in anticipation.

“Kevin was wondering,” Milton began and hesitated. “It’s just that, well…”

“Well, what?” Berdie encouraged.

“Did you have to slop out?” Kevin spurted.

“Slop out?” Berdie reared.

“When you were in the prison cell,” Milton finished. “You know, did they make you dispose of your own…”

“Yes, I know what slop out means,” Berdie said with a touch of impatience. “But I’ve never been to prison. Why should you think…?”

“You haven’t?” Kevin’s eyes grew large. “But the other day, near London, they said.”

Berdie became aware of just why they had asked such an unusually personal, and thick, question. Word of her excursion to the police station on Wednesday must have hit the village jungle drums and it had spiraled out beyond all recognition. The vicar’s wife had been imprisoned.

She wanted to yell, “You’ve the wrong end of the stick entirely. How do things get so out of hand, and why on earth would you even believe such a thing? And as far as the supposed prison practice of slopping out, the practice was discontinued in 1993. Plus, I must say, what impertinence.”

But she gathered herself to give a statement of simple facts. “I’m not sure who they are, lads, those who misunderstood and mistakenly said I was locked up, but I can assure you, nothing of the kind happened. I simply answered a few questions for a respectable policeman concerning a case of mistaken identity. And it all took place at the police station in a very well-kept office that was clean and tidy.”

“See,” Milton nearly bellowed at Kevin, “I told you it wasn’t likely.”

“Well, thank you, Milton,” Berdie said, hoping neither boy would spot the slight clench of her jaw.

Kevin was red faced and dragging his toe back and forth.

“Now you both know the truth.” Berdie said it generally, but she directed the comment to Kevin. “No more silly talk.”

Milton and Kevin nodded rather sheepishly.

“I should think Mr. Dudham is waiting for those supplies.”

“Come along, Kevin,” Milton commanded.

The two scurried toward Joe’s shop.

Berdie tried to refocus, making a forward motion toward the tea shop. Setting the record straight on this rumor could take a bit of work, but she was already rolling up her metaphorical shirtsleeves to take on the task.

Chief Inspector Kent exited the Copper Kettle, sipping from a Styrofoam cup, with a bulging white bag in the other hand. His weathered coat bore the signs of constant wear along with a sprinkling of pastry crumbs. “Ah, Mrs. Elliott, good morning.”

“Good morning, Chief Inspector.”

“You’re quite the topic of conversation in there.” A slight smirk appeared while he nodded in the shop’s direction.

“I can only imagine.” Berdie took a deep breath and slowly blew air through her pursed lips.

“Just to let you know, I did put in a good word to the gossip-in-chief, Mrs. Horn, is it? I told her that you’re quite an investigator and you’ve been nothing but helpful to the police.”

Berdie held her shoulders straight and sighed.

“Speaking of helpful,” Jasper Kent went on, “Sundeep scarpered off just after you left him in Slough, but we quickly caught up with him. The lad’s in police custody. He’s still saying he’s innocent, though he admitted that his last delivery route included Old Barn Road, you know, the supposed address of the place your husband tried to find.”

“Old Barn Road?” Berdie had a brain buzz. “Have you found his mobile?”

“Probably in some rubbish bin, but Constable Goodnight was keen on the mobile bit, so we assigned that search to him.”

Berdie gaped.

“We felt it was a good match with his skill set.”

“Skill set? You mean you wanted him out of your hair.”

“Brice has assigned one of his trainees to the task as well, just keeping it low on Goodnight’s radar.”

“Well, I hope it’s found, for Sundeep’s sake. It could be the evidence to prove his innocence.”

“You still believe he’s not guilty.”

“I do.”

He tipped his head. “I’m beginning to wonder. His profile doesn’t fit the crime, but is he telling us everything? I must admit, though, it feels we’re chasing smoke.”

“I should imagine,” Berdie agreed.

Kent took a sip of what smelled to be fresh coffee. “Truthfully, things in this case aren’t nearly cut and dry enough.”

“How’s that?”

“My head’s bruised and aching from all the brick walls I’ve hit against.”

Berdie felt a sense of disappointment. This was not the news she hoped for.

“We’re missing something.” Kent pressed his lips together. “My teammate and his techno toys, ready to save the world, and yet we’re still missing something.”

Berdie decided to speculate, though she could hardly let go the words. “Have you considered that perhaps the commander’s misfortune was self-inflicted?”

“Odd you should say that,” Kent mumbled. “With two and two making up three, we’ve begun questioning in that general area as well. Stupid way for the old fellow to go about things though.”

“Practically, it just doesn’t make much sense,” Berdie concurred.

“What made you think of it?”

“Someone brought it up to me. They pointed out that Cedric was quite low, had a dismal family life, wife gone, retirement bringing a sense of loss, that kind of thing.”

“And?”

“Well, it’s so out of character for him. He’s a soldier, a fighter, a man of integrity. I daresay, and most convincingly, should he consider that kind of act, he would jolly well do it quickly and cleanly so as to be sure the job was done properly.”

“Yes, would do.” Chief Inspector Kent took a large gulp from his cup and looked squarely at Berdie. “Our experts have good interview and analytical skills, probing techniques, and remarkable resources. But you have something we need: local knowledge.”

Berdie felt a drop of rain on her cheek, then another. “You are aware that the commander’s estranged daughter arrived last evening? Her boyfriend, Turkish, I believe, has accompanied her from their apparent residence in that country.”

Kent tapped a finger on his cup. “Your husband informed us last night. Intelligence operatives, even former ones that are now vicars, never lose the scent for something that smells fishy.”

“And?”

“We’re following it up.” Kent didn’t seem eager to expose any information on this drops-beginning-to-fall morning. “Well, time I got along.”

Berdie glanced at the white bag that had the telltale scent of a blueberry muffin. “With the investigation or breakfast?”

“Both,” Kent chirped. He paused. “You, if you don’t mind me using the term, sit at the epicenter of this village. And I have the sense it’s there, somehow, that the key to this whole thing may lie. So, keep your nose in, Berdie.”

“Chief Inspector, I’m me. I live with my nose in.”

Kent smiled. “We’ll be in touch.”

He stepped into the road and began a forward motion, little spats of rain decorating the landscape.

“God go with you,” Berdie called to Kent.

He lifted his coffee as if in a toast to her blessing.

A sense of fresh and vital energy surged within her, despite the cool rain now splashing the ground. Chief Inspector Kent esteemed her a valuable resource. She knew that—he had said it many times—but at this moment, the truth of it took on real meaning. She felt the vigor of her discerning gifts pulse. She had a new vivacity of standing planted on her own investigative feet and kicked the idea that “my gift is faltering” to the curb. “Be prepared, Chief Inspector Kent,” she said under her breath. “I’m going to solve this case!”

Berdie gathered her poise and entered the Copper Kettle. The entire tearoom became a din of low murmurs upon sight of her, with only the clatter of dishes in the back kitchen disturbing the tittle-tattle.

Berdie made sure her shoulders were straight, her stride confident, her chin properly poised, and her smile pleasant as she made way cross the shop to the tiny table where Lillie and a steam-spewing teapot awaited.

“You don’t look to have prison pallor,” Lillie teased softly when Berdie reached the table.

“And good morning to you as well.” Berdie placed her umbrella against her chair with a thud and sat down.

Lillie poured milk from a floral-designed pitcher into the cup set for Berdie. “I see you in all-over institutional gray.”

“What?”

She added a teaspoon of sugar. “With those little reformatory-issue shoes.” She ran a finger up her arm. “And a grand tattoo: ‘Don’t mess with Mama.’”

“Ha, ha,” Berdie said in a witty snap.

Lillie poured the hot tea into Berdie’s cup. “Oh, come now, Berdie. What else can you do but laugh?”

“It’s all very well for you.” Berdie stirred her tea and took a quick sip. She glanced at a nearby table where she spied Mrs. Dora Hall, the oral-surgery sufferer. “I’ll show you, Lillie, what else I can do. Two breakfast rolls and a very public private conversation.”

Berdie stood and made way for the cash register. The clipping of her nicely polished shoes on the wooden floor was steady and solid until she stopped at the table where Mrs. Hall and a friend sat.

“Mrs. Hall, good morning. I’m glad to see you’re enjoying a nice cuppa.” She nodded to the guest seated with her and addressed Mrs. Hall. “Your nephew, Stuart, told me about your oral surgery while he was buying some flowers for you at the White Window Box.”

Berdie could feel everyone’s stares.

“Yes,” Mrs. Hall acknowledged with a grand smile.

“Excuse me, but you don’t seem to be in agony. It’s just that my husband understood that you were really suffering and perhaps further surgery was in order. He’s planning to call in later this morning.”

“Oh my, no,” Mrs. Hall said with some alarm. The woman, who was the chair of the local literary society, sent her camel-like eyes into a flutter and threw her brows heavenward. “He needn’t come. Day of surgery was a bit rough, but I shouldn’t say agony. There was never more surgical doings planned, never that.”

Whispers from onlookers floated about the small room.

“Mind you, I have the odd twinge of pain now and again.” Mrs. Hall rubbed her lower jaw. “But he needn’t come. I’m much better, nearly all well.”

“There you are.” Berdie made every effort for her words to be clearly heard. “You’re recovering just fine. Silly the way a simple event takes on a head of steam all its own, when in truth, it’s nothing more than empty air. Some things do get exaggerated.” Berdie shook her head. “You know, my simple interview with police near London was whipped up into my going to prison, if you can imagine.”

Mrs. Hall went a bit pink. “Well, I never.”

“No, I should think not.” Berdie smiled. “Now, I’ll tell Hugh that you’re right as rain. And I’m genuinely pleased that you’re better, Mrs. Hall.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Elliott, I’m sure.” Mrs. Hall grinned, the results of her oral surgery clearly on view.

Berdie wasn’t sure there was such a thing as a group blush, but if there was, it happened that moment in the Copper Kettle.

And Villette Horn, at the cash register, was redder than most by the time Berdie stood before her.

“May we have two morning rolls, Mrs. Horn?” Berdie asked politely. “I know Lillie didn’t ask for them when she placed her order, but I’m feeling quite peckish.”

“I’ll bring them straightway.” Villette slipped meekly into the kitchen.

Berdie triumphantly returned to the table and all those present returned to speaking on other matters.

“You think you’re so clever,” Lillie cajoled as Berdie sat down.

“To quote the proverb, ‘two birds, one stone.’ And all done calmly and cordially.”

“Hugh would be proud.”

“I’d like to think so.”

Villette bustled out the kitchen door, holding two pink plates, each filled with a large morning roll. At the same time, the shop bell jingled and the door opened. Natty and Sandra entered.

“Shells, bells, and little fishes.” Villette smacked the rolls down before Berdie and Lillie.

“There’s a problem?” Lillie ventured.

“Our Batty Natty is going to fuss and carry on. You just watch.”

“How do you know that?” Berdie noticed Natty, who looked round, then frowned.

“I can’t keep the table she always sits at empty of customers on the off chance she’ll come in,” Villette huffed.

Sandra took Natty’s hand, but the old woman was having none of it. Her eyes stayed on the man and woman who sat at her table. She shuffled her feet and fingered the edge of her damp raincoat.

“Look at her—she’s a frightened lamb lost in the storm.” Villette crossed her arms.

“There’s an empty table, right near,” Lillie pointed out.

“Oh yes, but she won’t sit at it.”

Berdie watched Sandra try to coax her aunt to the vacant spot. Natty refused to move, her bottom lip protruding like a perch on a birdhouse.

“How can she possibly expect the table to be empty anytime she chooses?” Villette was piqued. “Does she consult Madame Baltazar before she leaves home?”

“Mrs. Horn,” Berdie quipped. “Madame Baltazar? Such foolishness.”

“But you must admit, Berdie, it is an unfair expectation,” Lillie countered.

Berdie felt a bolt of lightning strike her brain, a sizzle of fresh realization, and it wasn’t from the storm outside.

She grabbed the edge of the table. “What did you say, Lillie?”

“I said that Natty can’t expect the table to be available every—”

“That’s it,” Berdie almost yelled. “Lillie, you’re a genius.”

“Am I?”

“Is she?” Villette echoed.

“Something missing, Old Barn Road, smoke: If it walks like a duck. And that’s the truth.”

Lillie and Villette stared at Berdie.

“My dear Lillie, you’ve hit the nail on the head.”

“What are you on about?” Villette asked.

“Lillie, we’ve got to find Sundeep’s mobile.”

“What? How?”

“Mrs. Horn, please bag the rolls.” Berdie grabbed her umbrella.

“But I’ve only just brought them.”

“Berdie?” Now Lillie looked like a lost sheep. “What on earth?”

“Old Barn Road,” Berdie zipped, “we’re going to Old Barn Road.”

Villette took the roll-laden plates up. “And I thought Batty Natty was barmy.” She hustled off.

“Why are we going to Old Barn Road? It’s raining, and besides, I’m hungry.”

“Eat on the way, Lillie. We’ll take care of some business, walk to the church, and take the Edsel and Sons work van from there.” Berdie jumped from her seat. “Quickly.”

“Are you sure we can use the work van for something that isn’t church related?” Lillie stood and buttoned her coat.

“Oh, but it is church related, my dear Lillie. It most certainly is.”