Death at the Cafe (7 page)

Since moving to London, Annabelle would wake up and ensure that until she had settled down for breakfast, she would not let the onrush of the day’s errands and planned activities into her mind. Instead, she would use the calm respite of her early morning routine to mentally contemplate her privileged position, to refine her sense of magnanimous faith, and to reflect upon her personal growth.

On the morning after the terrible events surrounding Mary, Teresa, and the young woman at the café, however, Annabelle found herself making an exception. She brushed her teeth purposefully, dressed in expectation of any and all surprises, and ate a hearty breakfast that she hoped would give her the fortitude to handle the day’s investigation.

Her first task was to call Bishop Murphy. She gathered her composure, braced herself for addressing such an influential and important figure, albeit in a different branch of the church, and made the call. Rather anticlimactically, the Bishop was not available, but Annabelle was reassured by the kind voice of the secretary on the line that she was welcome to call back later.

With some time left before her lunch meeting with Mary, Annabelle had a brief, pleasant conversation with Cecilia as she arrived to perform her morning duties before setting off on a walk. She even remembered to take her cell phone, and upon placing it into her pocket, was reminded of the cake that remained there. She decided to keep it on hand, having just eaten breakfast, and in anticipation of another long day gallivanting around town.

After confirming her meeting with Sister Mary, who sounded more rather than less stressed after her night of sleep, Annabelle set off. They had agreed to meet in Soho, the densely packed district in the very heart of London. It was extremely busy throughout the day, meaning it should be safe, while still being far from the sites of the two murders. There was also a rather enticingly colourful tea shop about which Annabelle had heard some positive things.

Annabelle stepped off of the bus. She smiled as she felt the warmth of the sun on her face and witnessed the pleasing scene of a London street in the middle of the day. It was difficult to feel the proximity of evil in such delightfully uplifting surroundings, however much she reminded herself to stay alert. She strolled along the pavement with a smile on her face, enjoying the surprised reactions of Londoners for whom a smiling pedestrian is as alarming as a crazy one, and reached the tea shop feeling full of verve and wonder.

She stepped inside to the sound of the doorway’s tinkling doorbell and nodded a happy hello to the proprietor behind the counter. After scanning the tables, she noticed the politely raised hand of Mary, who was seated at the very back clutching an orange cup. She was wearing her habit, though she still carried the same handbag she had the day before.

Annabelle gestured for Mary to wait while she bought herself an Oolong tea and a chocolate caramel bar, then carried it to the table.

“Mary! How are you?” she said, after they had exchanged a quick embrace and settled into comfortably old-fashioned chairs.

“I feel awful, Annabelle,” she muttered from beneath her downturned face.

“Did you tell everyone what happened?”

“I told them I had to stay in London a little longer than I had intended, but I didn’t say precisely why. Oh Annabelle, I couldn’t! I was far too frightened of what they might think of me.”

“I’m sure it’ll turn out fine.”

Mary shook her head. “So much depends on me, Annabelle. People are dying daily from easily curable diseases and afflictions in West Africa. We work almost around the clock with minimal resources, to put every penny toward the drugs and treatments that allow people to live. Even small donations allow multiple people to stop suffering. There are so many people in need, however, that we really need a lot of funding. That was my task. That’s why I’m here. And instead, I’ll return penniless!”

Mary seemed almost on the verge of tears as she finished speaking. Annabelle placed a hand over her friend’s and rubbed it supportively.

“Don’t worry, Mary. We’ll get to the bottom of this. I promise.”

Mary looked into Annabelle’s eyes. “Oh Annabelle, you don’t still want to… ‘investigate’ this, don’t you? We’re in enough trouble as it is.”

“Well actually, I think I might be on to something,” Annabelle said, leaning forward to grab her friend’s full attention. “Do you recall what the Inspector said about Teresa’s apartment? Shortly after we had left it?”

Mary thought for a few seconds, before latching on to what Annabelle was referring to.

“About it being in complete disarray?”

“Yes!” Annabelle exclaimed.

“It was rather strange…” Mary agreed.

“There must have been someone else who entered the house after us, who then proceeded to turn the place into the ransacked mess that the Inspector discovered.”

“The person who killed her, perhaps?” Mary said, becoming entranced by Annabelle’s enthusiasm.

“Very possibly. Likely, I would say. They must have killed Teresa with the intention of entering her apartment.”

“But why? I don’t understand what someone would get from destroying such a beautiful home.”

Annabelle wagged a finger and smiled sneakily. “What if they were looking for something?”

Mary placed her palms on the table and glanced around, finding herself almost as deep in conspiratorial thought as Annabelle. “One of her artifacts, perhaps! There must certainly have been some priceless valuables among those pieces.”

“Precisely,” Annabelle added, pleased to find her friend joining in with her deductions.

“But why kill her while we were there? Wouldn’t it have been much easier to do it beforehand, or at least wait until we had left? Then the thief could have easily taken what he – or she – wanted from the apartment, and nobody would be any the wiser. Did they not know we were there? Could that have been merely an extraordinary coincidence?”

Annabelle nodded, then looked at her tea concentrating deeply. When she looked back at Mary’s face, she wore deep frown lines on her brow.

“I believe that wasn’t a coincidence,” she said, deliberately. “I don’t see how they couldn’t have known we were there. We were clearly visible through the windows.”

“Then why not wait until we had left?”

“Mary,” Annabelle said, using the tone of her voice to prepare her friend for a statement she wished she didn’t believe as much as she did, “I believe somebody is trying to frame us. More accurately, I believe they’re trying to frame you.”

Mary’s hand was barely quick enough to her mouth to smother the loud, shrieking gasp she emitted. Tea drinkers from the surrounding tables whipped their heads around to see the source of the high-pitched noise. Annabelle turned and smiled toward them.

“It’s alright,” she assured, “she’s just never tasted chocolate caramel bars before.”

She turned her head back to Mary, who had now managed to calm herself enough that she was able to pull her hand away and speak.

“Frame me? Why would anybody seek to frame me of all people?”

“That’s one of the questions that’s been troubling me since I woke up,” Annabelle replied.”

“And who would do such a thing, anyway?”

“That’s the other question,” Annabelle said, confirming her lack of further answers by taking a sizable bite out of her own sweet treat.

They sat silently, sipping their tea and considering the irritatingly perplexing questions that hung in the air between them. Every once in a while Mary would frown at her own thoughts, until finally sighing sorrowfully at her inability to conclude them. Annabelle could feel the deep worry and intense strain that her friend was under as keenly as if it were her own.

“Oh Annabelle,” Mary said, eventually, “where will this all end? I don’t see how I’ll ever get out of this pickle. At best, I’ll return to Africa late, disgraced, and without any of the funding that I tried so hard to get. At worst… I daren’t think about it, but if I am being framed, then I won’t just be punished, I’ll bring huge amounts of shame to the work my fellow nuns are doing all over Africa, perhaps the entire Catholic Church!”

“I’m sure it won’t be as bad as you believe.”

“I cannot share your optimism, Annabelle. Can you imagine what the papers would say if they found out? A nun? Accused of murder – and possibly stealing? It would probably make the front pages! The indignity!”

Annabelle sipped her tea. She wished that she could calm her friend’s worries, but to deny them would be a lie. Mary was right. If the newspapers did find out, the ensuing mess would be dreadful for everybody involved.

“What should we do now?” Mary said, eventually.

Annabelle nodded as she placed her tea cup down gently, as if she too had been considering the very same question.

“There’s one person who can help us.”

“Who?” Mary quickly said, eager to follow any avenue that could lead her away from her sticky situation.

“Bishop Murphy. Apparently he has already heard about this spot of bother we find ourselves in. He left me multiple messages yesterday and is keen to speak with me. I would imagine he’d like to speak with you too.”

“Yes. He called after me too, but I had hoped to delay meeting with him until… well, until I had rather more positive news.”

“Let’s hope that Bishop Murphy can provide us with that positive news himself,” Annabelle said, pulling her cell phone from her pockets.

“I should mention something before you call,” Mary said, placing a hand over Annabelle’s phone.

“Yes?” Annabelle said, raising an eyebrow.

Mary squirmed a little before speaking. “The Bishop may not be as sympathetic toward me as you might expect. You see…”

Annabelle’s eyebrows and ears pricked up at this somewhat peculiar tone in Mary’s voice.

“He and Teresa knew each other. I’m not sure, but I believe they were friends. She was a well-known contributor to the Catholic Church. It was the Bishop himself who suggested I seek her out in order to gather resources for my hospital. He is probably gravely concerned about her death, not least because of my involvement – or I should say – suspected involvement.”

Annabelle considered her friend’s words briefly, but carefully. She pushed away the unthinkable thought that popped into her mind and proceeded to smile good-naturedly as she sought out the Bishop’s number in her phone.

“All the more reason to get him on our side as quickly as possible,” she declared, bringing the phone to her ear. “Let’s just hope that his judgment is as capable as his faith.”

The two women set off as soon as Annabelle had arranged a meeting with the Bishop’s secretary, who had assured them that Bishop Murphy was anticipating their meeting greatly.

Bishop Murphy’s home was in the heart of Kensington, one of London’s oldest and wealthiest boroughs. With its clean, tree-lined streets, and the well-maintained fronts of its vast and diverse homes, it was an area that drew the kind of people who enjoyed the distinctive flavor of London life while still requiring the peaceful repose of quiet streets and luxurious homes more often situated in suburbia.

For the first time since they had met again, Annabelle and Mary felt relaxed as they strolled through the safety and the beauty of the area’s spotless streets. They walked arm in arm, just as they had as children in search of their next adventure.

“This is it,” Annabelle said, as they stopped outside the address given to her by the Bishop’s secretary.

“Oh my!” replied Mary, as she craned her head back to take in the full majesty of the Bishop’s abode.

They were standing in front of a tall, four-story Victorian structure, though it displayed none of the typically Victorian austerity, with vast, arched windows and double doors almost as large as those of Annabelle’s church. The white-stone walls of the building were purer and brighter than any other on the street. A dense array of colorful flowers lined the gravel path up to the door, as inviting to newcomers as they were to the bees and butterflies that frolicked among them.

“Have you ever been here before, Annabelle?”

“No, though I’m incredibly curious to see what it’s like inside. If it’s half as striking as it is outside, we’re in for a treat.”

“You go first, Annabelle,” Mary said, as if daring her friend.

“Off I go!” Annabelle chuckled breezily, before opening the gate and leading the way up the large steps toward the big, brass knocker.

CHAPTER 4