An All-Consuming Fire (26 page)

But Jeff wasn’t to be distracted. “Tell us what’s going on.”

“Yes, with your business acumen, and Charlie’s computer skills you may be just what we need. You see, Antony’s helping this film company with a mini-series—”

“For my sins,” Antony muttered as he reached for a teacup, then found the pot empty.

“Time for another round.” Cynthia and Gwena were on their feet together. The morning moved on to another round of tea, this one with bacon and eggs for everyone except Judy who turned slightly green at the suggestion and stayed with nibbling dry toast. “They gave us breakfast Paninis on the airplane.” Judy shuddered. “They had some sort of yellow glue they called cheese.”

“Let me know when you’re ready for a lie-down and I’ll take you up to the house where you’ll be staying,” Antony said. “A married ordinand—an American, actually—has taken his family home to Texas for the holiday and offered their home for our wedding guests.”

“Oh, how lovely. How about now?”

It was mid afternoon before Jeff, Charlie and Antony returned to the cottage from settling Judy and their luggage in their borrowed accommodations, leaving Cynthia in attendance on the mother of her first grandchild. Gwena had gone off to confer with Kendra about final details for the dress rehearsal, accompanied with appropriate reminders from Felicity to be careful—they still didn’t know who was lurking about out there hitting people over the head. Or why.

That left Felicity, Antony and her brothers alone to tell Jeff and Charlie about the mysteries, mishaps and possible murders surrounding the film-making and the pageant. “You mentioned insurance?” Charlie asked.

Felicity explained. “We can’t make any sense out of any of it. But we did wonder if Studio Six might be in dire need of funds.” She grinned at her brothers. “Maybe if you two combined your talents you might be able to find something out for us.”

Jeff, two years older than Charlie, more somber and with none of Felicity’s full steam ahead impetuosity, frowned. “And you think that might have something to do with someone running Antony off the road and assaulting you and maybe even killing people? Look, this is serious business. You shouldn’t be mixed up in it. Aren’t the police on the case?”

“Of course they are,” Felicity replied. “If we learn anything we’ll tell them.”

“I don’t think—” Jeff began.

But Charlie, his eyes sparkling, cut him off. “What do you want to know? Exactly?”

Felicity sighed. “If we knew that we probably wouldn’t need to ask. But it would be useful to know if Studio Six is solvent. Or might their director Harry Forslund be desperate for money—desperate enough to run an insurance scam, for instance.”

“Ah, so there’s the insurance angle,” Charlie said.

“That’s something else we need to know. Can you even get insurance on a dog?”

Now it was Charlie’s turn to frown. “For enough to bail a company out of bankruptcy? Who is this dog—Lassie?”

Felicity made a face at her brother. “Just see what you can find out. Okay? Maybe you can come up with a better theory.”

“Why someone might want to hit you over the head? I can’t imagine.” Charlie ducked as she threw a sofa pillow at him.

Jeff gave his slow grin with an air of submission. “All right. Where’s your computer?”

Felicity gave a hoot of triumph and led them to her room. She settled on the bed across from her desk, where she would have a clear view of the computer screen. “Out.” Jeff pointed at the door.

“But I could help. You might not recognize the leads…”

Jeff gave her a strong-eyed stare. The same one he had used long ago to control a pesky ten-year-old sister. She scrambled off her bed and closed the door behind her.

Antony, waiting in the hall, laughed. “Ah, I’ll have to get Jeff to teach me that technique.”

But in the end Felicity and Antony spent the time more pleasantly snuggled on the sofa. It was getting dark outside the windows when the brothers emerged. Felicity jumped up. “What did you learn? Did you find anything? Is Harry broke? Should we tell the police?” She cut off her own flow at the sight of the smug smirks on their faces. “You didn’t do anything illegal did you?”

“Little sister, we love you but there are limits to even our devotion.” Jeff took the chair by the Christmas tree.

“Actually, it wasn’t necessary to do any hacking. Jeff knew where to look.” Charlie sounded just the least bit disappointed.

“So?” Felicity sat on the edge of the sofa.

“Pet insurance is readily available everywhere in England—even at the super market. But only liability and health. If Zoe is insured, her owner will be able to recover the vet fees,” Charlie said.

“Or if she had bitten someone and they sued, the policy holder would be covered,” Jeff added.

“But not if she died?”

Jeff shook his head. “Nothing I could find for a normal household pet. Maybe, like Charlie suggested, if she were Lassie.”

Felicity sighed and slumped back on the sofa. “No, just a lovely, beloved pet. So much for that theory.”

“And did you find anything on Studio Six?” Antony asked Jeff.

“From what I could find out the company is solvent. Just. Looking at the figures I could turn up I’d say they could be on the brink, but haven’t fallen over yet.”

“So not bad enough for Harry to be running a scam?” Felicity asked.

Jeff considered. “I would think it’s more likely to make him very, very anxious that his project succeed. Rather than putting everything at risk by trying something illegal.”

“So not likely to be sabotaging his own enterprise,” Antony said.

“Did you learn anything about his recent projects? Did they pay?” Felicity asked.

Jeff nodded. “A little. Assuming the figures they’ve made public are legit. It would take a full audit to be absolutely certain.”

Then Felicity jerked forward. “Or maybe it means he
has
been running a scam and has been successful so far.”

Jeff grinned. “Remember Occam’s razor? The simplest explanation is usually the correct one.”

“Meaning?” She challenged.

“Meaning maybe it’s what it looks like—that he’s just marginally successful with his documentaries and historical mini-series. It is possible.”

“Yes, but if he isn’t.” Felicity wasn’t letting go. Not yet. She had heard a passing reference to a director’s job in Australia. Could Harry be looking for an excuse to emigrate? “Could he be trying to make the series fail on purpose?”

Jeff shook his head. “Not unless he has some ulterior motive we haven’t thought of. Not for insurance, at least.”

“You can’t get insurance on a film?” Felicity’s voice was heavy with incredulity.

“Of course you can. The coverage for media projects is endless.” Jeff counted them off on his fingers. “Negative and videotapes, nonappearance of cast, producers indemnity, filming equipment, props, sets and wardrobe, employer’s liability, public liability, errors and omissions, fire, flood…”

Felicity held up her hand. “Okay. I get it. In short, disaster and liability insurance, but no insurance against the film flopping.”

“You got it.”

“So there would be absolutely no reason for Harry to sabotage his own film.” Felicity threw up her hands. She had been so certain they had solved the puzzle. At least that part of the conundrum. Where could they look now? She was convinced something was going on. There had been far too many calamities around that project to write it off to simple human error or bad luck.

“You’re certain there isn’t anything?” She looked from one brother to the other. There it was again, that look passed between Jeff and Charlie that could best be described only as a leer. “What? You did find something, didn’t you? Tell us!”

Charlie’s cat-with-the-cream look turned to a genuine smile, but before he could speak Cynthia, Judy and Gwena came in, full of plans for the evening.

“It’s almost New Year’s Eve!” Cynthia breezed down the hall and pulled an apron from the cupboard even before Judy, followed by Gwena had the front door closed. “I’ll make my traditional spaghetti.” Cynthia grinned at her three grown-up children. “You always loved it when you were little. Do you remember?”

Felicity boggled. Certainly she remembered. Vividly. She remembered her father in an oversized chef’s apron wafting a wooden spoon.
Come here, Muffin.
Tell me if I’ve got enough oregano in this.
She did recall, however, that her mother usually marked the holiday by coming out of her office long enough to eat Andrew’s spaghetti with them. Sometimes she even stayed with them to watch the Times Square celebrations on the television.

Felicity gave her brothers a meaningful look. Jeff was first on his feet. “It sounds great, Mom. I’ll give you a hand.”

Felicity swallowed, remembering her father’s scratchy beard on her cheek when he kissed her happy New Year but stuffed it away as she got to her feet to follow them into the kitchen.

Antony, with a worried look on his face, came into the kitchen to ask what time Cynthia was planning to have dinner. “Oh, the sauce should simmer for at least an hour. Are you going to be too hungry to wait?”

“No, that’s perfect. I, uh—well, it’s the first evensong for the Naming and Circumcision of Jesus.” He pointed in the direction of the monastery.

Cynthia looked up from the onion she was slicing. “You what?”

Gwena came into the room behind him. “Sheesh. You priests are never off duty, are you? What a way to spend New Year’s Eve.”

Antony held up his hands. “Sorry. I don’t want to put a damper on anyone’s celebrating.”

His sister laughed. “No worries. Actually, Squib, I think I’ll go with you.”

Antony stared. “Are you serious?”

“Of course I am. Everyone knows high church liturgy is the best theatre in town. You’ll have to give me absolution for coveting your costumes, though.”

“They’re vestments.” Antony said it almost under his breath but he gave his sister a wide smile. “Great, fifteen minutes, then? Anyone else want to go?” He made the invitation general. “No pressure.”

In the end everyone but Cynthia, who stayed home to oversee the simmering of her sauce, chose to bundle into their coats and trek to the community church. Felicity slipped her arm through Antony’s and smiled all the way up the hill. So soon she would be holding the same arm walking back down the church aisle as Mrs. Antony Sherwood.

If the monks had realized that at least one of their congregation would be coming purely for the spectacle they couldn’t have done a better job of being sure not to disappoint her, beginning with the prelude from Bach’s Christmas Oratorio. Then the procession as the congregation sang “At the Name of Jesus.” It seemed that the thurifer produced an entire cumulus of incense and the white and gold vestments, especially Father Anselm’s sumptuously embroidered cope, were especially luminous in the candlelight. Or maybe it was just Felicity’s state of euphoria as wedding visions morphed with the service before her.

The acclamations and responses followed on cue. “Unto thy name give praise, O Lord,” then Scripture readings, canticles and prayers proceeded through their stately pace: “Almighty God, whose blessed Son was circumcised in obedience to the law for our sake and given the Name that is above every name: give us grace faithfully to bear his Name…” Father Anselm led them in the Collect of the Day followed by the Collect for Aid against all Perils, “Lighten our darkness, we beseech thee, O Lord; and by thy great mercy defend us from all perils and dangers of this night…”

Felicity was still smiling as they stood and sang the recessional, “All Hail the Power of Jesus’ Name.” Perils and Dangers were behind them. Surely they were. She breathed an additional prayer that it would be so, then hurried out to catch up with their departing guests.

Her smile widened as she heard Gwena say, “That gold cape thingy alone was almost enough to make a convert of me.”

They were at the top of the stairs leading down the hill to the community gate when it began. Felicity shouldn’t have been surprised, the amazing fireworks display of Christmas Eve was still fresh in her mind, but still it was startling and thrilling when seemingly the entire hillside on the other side of the river came alive with a wall of orange and red flame. Popping and fizzing, skyrockets sailed into the sky, the entire scene multiplied in its effect by the misty cloud cover that amplified and reflected every spark and flare like a series of mirrors, turning the night to daylight.

Gwena gave the first joyous shout and flung out her arms, connecting with Jeff who stood beside her and ending in a hug that must have come close to knocking him off his feet. Felicity turned to Antony and copied Gwen’s example. A moment later the whole group was running down the hill, except for the very pregnant Judy who was being escorted by her attentive husband with great care.

It seemed that the fireworks not only lit the night, but warmed it as well. And brought all the neighbors out of their homes to run up and down the street shouting “Happy New Year!” Felicity had never before experienced such a sense of camaraderie with people she didn’t know in all her time in England. It was like one of those block parties one saw in news accounts of the Queen’s Jubilee or something.

They crossed the main road and were about to turn into Nab Lane when a particularly bright rocket bursting just over their head illumined a dark passage behind the corner shop and Felicity recognized a familiar silhouette. “Syd! Happy New Year!” She called and waved.

But the shape did not return her greeting. Perhaps he hadn’t heard her. If he had merely continued walking away she would have thought no more of it. It was the furtive manner with which he slipped behind the building that aroused her suspicions. “Antony!” She pulled him aside. “That was Syd. I’m sure of it. And up to no good, I’ll wager.”

“No, Felicity, wait.”

But it was too late, she was already concealing herself behind the hedge that bordered the walk. She put a finger to her lips and mimed for Antony to be quiet, but with the fireworks exploding all around them it was hardly necessary. She peered over the top of the bushes in time to see another form step from the shadows to meet Syd. She ducked down again. “It’s Harry,” she hissed. “What’s he doing here? Why is Syd meeting him?”