Folly (14 page)

Air brushed his cheek and the faint candlelight he saw through his eyelids flickered out.

Evelyn welcomed the total blackness.

He heard his skull crack.

L
ily had come to fetch the dogs from Tony's clinic. She gave some long looks but when she got no explanation, other than they needed her to keep the dogs for them, Lily nodded grimly and took off for Corner Cottage where they all decided fewer questions would be asked than at the pub, particularly about Katie.

It was from Lily that Alex got her habit of keeping information to herself.

Alex and Tony had grown up playing in the lanes and byways of Folly-on-Weir and they knew how to get most places without using the obvious, if usually shortest, routes that took them through the village.

Since the clinic was at the furthest end of the area from their destination, Leaves of Comfort, they set off through what would be Tony's vegetable garden later in the year, behind the cottage next to Paws Place. This also belonged to him and he rented it out to tourists in spring and summer. Alex had never been inside Streamside, formerly owned by a single lady who spent most of her life there, but understood it was ‘quaint' and much in demand by holidaymakers.

Past the higgledy-piggledy canes and sagging string from the previous year's pea crop they went. The earth had been turned at the end of the season but still lay in large clods to be broken down when the time came. Alex was grateful that despite a day that had cleared up from a rainy start to show some sunshine through the clouds, it was still too cold for the ground to be running with liquid mud as the last of the snow melted.

In most places the dry stone walls were backed by overgrown hedges, leafless but dense enough to make them impenetrable to casual eyes, other than those of the odd, blanket-draped horse that ambled over to push a hopeful nose through a gap in search of carrots or an apple.

They had decided not to mention to the sisters either the cincture or where the lace came from, other than it having been found among scraps. ‘Those two are so sharp, y'know,' Alex said. ‘If they get an inkling we aren't on the up and up, they'll shred us until they get answers.'

‘No answers possible at this stage,' Tony said. He pulled her to a halt and peered around the next bend. ‘How do you feel about O'Reilly?'

The question surprised her. ‘Feel? I think he can be overbearing and a bit arrogant. But maybe that's a police thing – I haven't had much experience, although he goes out of his way to be charming most of the time. He wants our cooperation – one hundred per cent – but he's quick to tell me to back off if I ask the simplest thing. He had another go at whether or not I saw anything in the woods. Keeps saying, “the smallest thing”, as if I won't work it out that he literally means something small. I'd love to find that ring.'

‘If there is one.' He helped her over a stile and, single file, the two of them hugged two long expanses of hedgerow, the first to a corner where a conifer known locally as Big Twin for its double trunk marked where the narrow road outside turned sharp south-west. ‘Don't suppose you asked this Brother Percy about it?'

‘Oh, blast!' Alex stopped in her tracks and threw up her arms. ‘What a blithering idiot. I was going to at the pub but I held back, then forgot. How could I be so stupid?'

‘Whoa,' Tony said. ‘Enough with the self-flagellation. If I'd been in your shoes I don't think I'd have thought of it, either. The circumstances would throw anyone off.'

She crossed her arms tightly and muttered, ‘Twit.'

He shook his head and carried on. ‘You are so hard on yourself.'

Eventually the square tower of St Aldwyn's showed in the distance with the jumble of thatch, stone and tile roofs just barely visible at that end of the village. If they followed the wide lane they would eventually come to a dip that led into Underhill.

‘I should just have let him go,' Alex muttered, slowing down. ‘Or done what O'Reilly says I should have and called him as soon as I realized Brother Percy's connection to the dead man.'

Tony looked at her over his shoulder. ‘I would have done what you did. Trying to get him to talk to O'Reilly today was logical.'

‘That's not what he said. According to the detective I'm trying to interfere in his case. I ask you, why would anyone want to get muddled up in a horrible murder case?'

A large, slightly rough hand closed around hers and surprised Alex but she smiled at Tony and let him pull her along beside his longer strides. ‘Who's that Agatha Christie character?' he said. ‘The woman who solves all the cases for the inept police?'

‘Miss Marple,' Alex said, pretending to frown. ‘She's about a hundred years old and wears ugly little hats with flowers. Is that who I remind you of?'

He chuckled. ‘We're not talking about my opinion,' he said, and left it there.

Alex's mind started to race. She remembered Percy's sweet smile and his discomfort over the second glass of wine, although he did drink it.

And this morning, as O'Reilly heaved the man's weight to make room for Alex to cut the cincture. He'd let him down on the bed and immediately started making calls while she stood there, unable to do anything to help other than straighten Percy's habit.

She had pulled the hood around his throat to cover the ugly bruising above his collarbones. That was when O'Reilly warned her away.

Her heart hammered and she concentrated on walking.

Another few minutes and they picked their way through a stony passage beside Leaves of Comfort.

‘We'd better not let them think we can settle in,' Alex said. ‘I want to find O'Reilly and get rid of this knife. I don't like having it.' Harriet had answered the phone when she called and sounded delighted to welcome visitors.

Tony cleared his throat. ‘I'm a bit surprised our Detective Inspector let you go so quickly.'

Her stomach squeezed. ‘I'm sure he didn't realize I'd gone. When all those people of his started pushing in I walked out. No one said anything, so that was that.'

She didn't need a response to know what Tony was thinking. ‘That wasn't clever, was it?'

‘It'll be all right.'

‘But we're taking the back way so I don't get picked up before we can talk to Harriet and Mary.'

Tony didn't answer.

Two ladies who worked for the Burkes were in early and busy setting tables in the tea shop. They nodded to Tony and Alex when they came in.

The door at the top of the stairs stood open and the new boy, Oliver, met them there. He sashayed back and forth, his exceptionally long tail straight up and flicking like a flag. He already looked sleeker than the first time Alex saw him.

‘There you are,' Mary said from a spot by the windows. ‘We thought you were lost. They're here, Harriet,' she added loudly in the direction of the kitchen. There was no sign of her ‘illness' of the prior day.

Before either of them could say something, Mary carried on: ‘Harriet's finishing the tea. Come and see this. It doesn't look good. What do you suppose is going on?'

With a quick glance at Tony, Alex joined Mary and peered in the direction of the churchyard and the church beyond. Somehow an ambulance had been maneuvered along the narrow path between graves and backed up to the church. The door wasn't visible but a uniformed officer stood, partly in view, his hands behind his back.

‘Do you suppose someone collapsed in church?' Mary asked. ‘I heard sirens but that was earlier.'

‘Let's hope it's nothing serious,' Alex said, although she tried to piece together why these people were going into the church for something that must be tied in with Brother Percy's death.

‘It reminds me of being up on the hill after Brother Dominic was killed.' She clamped her mouth shut and kept looking out the window, hoping Mary hadn't noticed what she'd said.

‘Brother Dominic?' Mary said.

‘Brother Dominic?' Harriet echoed from behind them.

Slowly, Alex turned around and gave Tony an embarrassed little shrug.

‘That's right,' Tony said, winking at Alex. ‘The man Alex found was a monk. But we're not supposed to talk about it. Not that the whole village doesn't already guess it was someone religious after the parish hall meeting.'

That reference made Alex feel better, but Tony had to explain all about what had been said at the parish hall meeting and finished by saying, ‘Weren't you at the Black Dog last night? Someone must have discussed it.'

‘They didn't know his name,' Mary said defensively. ‘You were talking to a monk, too, Alex. That's what people said. I didn't see him myself.'

‘Yes, I was.' The sadness that swept into her yet again was overwhelming.

‘We came looking for your expertise,' Tony said quickly, raising his brows at Alex. He didn't want her to talk about Brother Percy.

‘Tea first.' Harriet dispensed four steaming cups and passed them around. ‘The pastries are late but I made these Bakewell tarts myself. Not my best effort, but they'll have to do.'

The flaky little golden tarts with their currant mincemeat filling entirely enclosed in glazed and sweetened pastry made a fibber of Harriet. Some seconds of silent munching attested to that. Alex ate, although all she could concentrate on was the need to get to O'Reilly.

‘Any luck finding this cat a new home?' Mary said abruptly and at least she had the grace to blush.

‘Ignore her,' Harriet told them. ‘She won't be giving my Oliver away.'

Oliver bypassed Harriet, went directly to Mary and brushed himself around her legs, purring all the time.

Digging in the pocket of her old parka, Alex pulled out the lace edging, being sure not to disturb the knife again. ‘Is it true that lace is distinctive?' she asked. ‘Can anyone recognize someone's work, someone in particular?'

Harriet held out a hand and said, ‘Of course. A few people and some are better at that than others, but if a piece is either famous or local it can be identified.'

This could be from anywhere, Alex quickly decided. But it was worth a try.

Mary and Harriet sat on a little couch. They ended up shoulder to shoulder as sagging springs gave way in the middle of the seat cushions. They bent their heads over the strip of badly stained lace and murmured together.

‘Can you tell anything?' Tony asked, clearly impatient.

‘It's not as old as it looks,' Harriet said. ‘But it's been abused, so to speak. Not treated with adequate respect.'

Alex rolled her eyes. Mary caught her and gave a pinched little smile and shake of the head.

‘But it is old,' Harriet said. ‘Water got to it, I think. Where's the rest of it?' She raised her face to look at Alex.

‘We don't have it.' She thought about the possible implications but added: ‘It could be really important.'

‘In the murder?' Harriet asked at once, her eyes bright. ‘I'll tell you right now, I think these policemen are an arrogant lot and if we can solve the crime without them we could put them in their places.'

Alex almost groaned at the ‘we,' and the sound Tony made couldn't be anything but a groan.

Harriet set the scrap on her lap and curled fine old hands into fists with which she gave little, excited pumps. ‘All right, all right. Don't look like that. We're not about to make fools of ourselves but if we can do anything to help, we will. Won't we, Mary?'

Enthusiasm set Mary into a bounce on the couch. ‘You can bet your boots on that,' she said.

‘But do you know anything about the lace?' Tony said.

‘All right, all right,' Mary said again. ‘Don't get your knickers in a twist.'

Over Alex's laughter, Harriet tapped the miniscule balls fashioned with such fine thread. ‘I've seen this and I'm sure Mary has.' Her sister nodded emphatically. ‘But not recently and we'll have to call on some of our friends who make lace themselves and know the history of some of the old patterns, particularly the ones invented by individuals.'

‘The silver filaments,' Mary began, but Harriet shushed her.

‘We mustn't jump to conclusions. I'll call you if and when we have something useful,' Harriet said. ‘And don't bother to ask us to guard this with our lives. No one will know we have it.'

Tony said, ‘Not even over a glass of your favorite Sandemans sherry?'

‘No,' Mary said. ‘But if we advance this case for you we'll expect a whole bottle.'

‘I
didn't know you collected children's books,' Tony said when he walked from the cottage with Alex. As they made to leave, Harriet had handed over a large bag she said were for Alex's collection.

She didn't respond.

‘Books?' he said, holding up the bag with one hand and closing the door behind them with the other.

‘There are a lot of things you don't know about me,' she said shortly.

That stung but he was sure she was right. He wished there was nothing she ought to know about him.

‘First editions, mostly,' she added. ‘A lot of them aren't worth anything but they make me happy.'

She said it as if not much made her happy, but he could be looking for these things.

‘Oh, hell, I should have thought of that,' he said, and stopped walking. ‘O'Reilly's going to be browned off about Harriet and Mary having the lace. He … This is going to give him one more reason to make digs about interference. He'll go roaring over there and shake them up.'

‘They haven't done anything.' Alex's chin came up. She prodded his chest with a forefinger. ‘And he won't be going anywhere near them. When I get the stuff back, I'll take it in and tell the truth: I found it in my pocket.'

‘I don't think that's—'