Screaming Yellow (24 page)

The vicar looked annoyed but nodded. “That would have been Susan Pargeter. We nearly ran into her as we came into the drive. She did seem to be in a hurry.”

“Yes. That Inspector White should look at her as well. Perhaps she did it.” Jean lit her cigarette, blowing a smoke ring up into the vaulted ceiling. As an afterthought she offered the packet to the priest and he took one, borrowing her lighter.

“I doubt it if she was in a hurry to leave
before
the murder.” He sat back with a smirk as if this were the funniest thing in the world.

“Perhaps you’re right.” Jean tapped the ash off her cigarette. “Thank you for the talk, Father. It has been helpful to get it all out of my system.” She stood and gathered her gloves and handbag but paused at the vestry door. “You won’t let them arrest me, will you? I didn’t do poor Robert in, even if he was mean to us.”

Simon walked her through the apse. “You’ve done nothing they would arrest you for, Jean, don’t worry. Get off home and try to relax. I’m sure all this will be sorted soon.”

Jean nodded and shook his hand. “I hope so, Father.” She paused in the porch to pull on her gloves then hurried along the path to her car, dropping the cigarette butt at the edge of the graveyard and treading it into the ground.

* * * *

“I wonder if you could do me a favor.” Meinwen stood at the door to the rectory feeling somewhat uncomfortable. It was how she imagined Daniel must have felt when visiting the lion’s den without a veterinarian’s license.

“Of course.” Jennifer swapped her oven gloves to her left hand. “Come in. I’m just in the middle of making some jam with the last of the fruit from the freezer.”

“My mother used to make jam.” Meinwen followed her into the kitchen, marveling at the orderly lines of jars ready to be heated in the oven.

“Really? I’ll save you a jar if you like.”

Meinwen smiled “Very much, thank you.”

Jennifer returned to stirring the jam. “What was the favor?”

“Could you tell me what cellphone Richard was using? I phoned The Larches to find out but no one there could remember. I know you have a lot of contacts you could ask.”

“Sure.” Jennifer grinned over her shoulder. “You could have messaged me that.”

“I wouldn’t have been offered any jam them.”

“True. Would you like a coffee? There’s some in the pot.”

“That’s kind of you to offer, thanks.” Meinwen sat and drummed her fingers on the table. “Who would I ask to find out about Tom?”

Jennifer laughed. “Simon, of course. As parish priest, he’s in charge of the curate.”

“Simon wouldn’t believe any ill of Tom, though. Who else might tell me about him?”

“Harold Waterman? I think Tom does some work up at the manor on occasion.”

Meinwen grimaced. “I’d rather not. His companion has a dark aura. He made me feel dirty just saying hello to him. I dread to think what this Harold Waterman is like. ”

Jennifer looked up through half-closed eyelids. “Is that dirty in a good way? I write smut, remember?” She waved a hand at the room. “We couldn’t afford all these antiques on the stipend that Simon gets from the church. I pay for nearly all of it. He gets a little bit of income from a legacy someone left him and a bit more from his stocks but it’s just a drop in the ocean.”

“A legacy? I didn’t think priests were allowed to have private holdings.”

“Oh, he gives any surplus away to the poor,” Jennifer said. “It’s not like he makes a profit out of anything, more’s the pity.” She put the spoon on the counter. “Why are you asking about Old Tom? Do you think that he had something to do with Robert’s murder?”

Meinwen shrugged. “Not really. He just seems a little odd.”

Jennifer laughed. “He’s bound to be. He’s been the curate and gravedigger for as long as I can remember. You’ve got to be a bit strange to do that.”

“Really? I didn’t think he was that old. Quite attractive, I thought.”

“You should get out more!” Jennifer gave Meinwen a friendly punch on the arm. “He must be sixty if he’s a day.”

Meinwen raised an eyebrow. “Really?” she said. “He told me he was twenty-three.”

* * * *

Susan put the Jaguar into drive and pulled off. “Did it go well, ma’am?” she asked. “Your talk with the priest, I mean.”

“Well enough.” Jean Markhew relaxed into the soft leather and pulled off her gloves. “I gave him enough to think that I’m a batty old woman worried about going to prison for stealing trinkets.”

“Well done, ma’am.” Susan smiled and Jean caught her glance in the rearview mirror. “You didn’t murder Master Robert, so they should leave you alone now.”

“Exactly.” Jean pointed to a lay-by separated from the road by a band of trees and hedgerow. “Pull over in there.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Susan indicated and pulled into the half-moon section of tarmac. On weekday rush hours there was a sandwich truck that parked here. She drew the car to a smooth halt, switched off the engine and sat with her hands resting palm upright in her lap, waiting for further instruction.

“Help me out, would you?”

Susan climbed out to open the back door. “Is there anything you need, ma’am?”

Jean walked her to the front of the car where she sat on the hood, grateful for the heat of engine against the cold wind. She fumbled in her handbag for her cigarettes and offered one to the housekeeper. “Filthy habit but I feel the need. Did you know Father Brande smoked? You could have knocked me over with a feather when he took one.”

“I didn’t, actually.” Susan lifted a cigarette to her lips and waited for Jean to do the same, cupping her hands around the end when the older woman held out Robert’s lighter.

Jean took a long drag in silence, blowing out the smoke through pursed lips. “You’re staying with me, aren’t you?” She sounded tired.

“Yes, ma’am.” Susan stared straight ahead as Jean studied her profile.

“Why did Catherine decide to leave?”

“I don’t know for sure.” Susan looked into her employer’s eyes. “Some sort of argument with Sir Robert, I think. It upset her.”

Jean took another drag of her cigarette and dropped the rest on the tarmac, grinding it out with her heel. “I don’t know why he employed her in the first place. She’s quite useless.”

“He didn’t, ma’am.” Susan frowned. “It was a favor to Richard, I think.”

“Was it indeed? How interesting.” She went to the hedge and broke off a straight wand of hazel, trimming off any side shoots with her fingers. “I want you spread-eagled across the hood. She positioned herself to one side, lifting Susan’s skirt and pulling her knickers taut to expose her bottom. “Think of this as a reward.” Jean ran a finger down the stick she’d just cut then raised it high, her target the crease where Susan’s arse met her thighs.

She ignored the hoots of passing drivers.

* * * *

Jennifer jumped as Simon poked his head into the kitchen. She hadn’t heard him come in.

“What a lot of jam! No need to tell me what you’ve been doing today.”

“I’ve been quite the busy bee.” Jennifer put down her jam labels and reached for the kettle. “How was your day? Did you get your sermon done?”

“Eventually, once I’d got rid of Jean Markhew.” Simon sat at the table. “That woman can whine for England.”

“I’ll bet. Did she say anything interesting?”

“Not much.” Simon shrugged off his coat, leaving it draped over the back of his chair. “She’s worried about the will and whether Meinwen would think she murdered Robert.”

“Was it?”

“What?”

Jennifer peered through the glass front of the oven. “Was it her who killed him? Dinner will be ready in twenty minutes.”

“No, of course not. The idea of her killing someone is absurd.”

“She was here earlier. I’ve promised her some jam.”

Simon raised his eyebrows. “Who? Jean Markhew?”

“No, Meinwen. She wanted to know what cellphone Richard used.”

“Oh. It was a Nokia, I think. I don’t know what one, though. I don’t take any notice of other people’s phones because I’m happy with the one I’ve got. You won’t catch me coveting my neighbor’s cell.”

“Yours is a brick,” Jennifer said.

“But easy to use.” Simon pulled it out of his trouser pocket. “I don’t have to remember where all the functions are. I don’t need any gadgets.”

Jennifer laughed. “As the bishop said to the actress.”

Chapter 22

Jennifer scurried out of her office when her brother came home the following evening, to find him stomping about the hall, his coat and briefcase flung untidily onto the hall pew. She half led, half dragged him to the sitting room where he dropped into his favorite easy chair and sat back rubbing his temples. “That’s tomorrow’s sermon done as well as the end-of-year accounts.” He opened his eyes and reached for the scotch. “I loathe that job.”

Jennifer switched on the gas fire. “Well, you can forget about them now, at least until the bishop sends them back with a query note attached.”

“Don’t!” Simon made the sign of the cross. “He’s been on at me about my fuel usage as it is.”

“Is that why you’ve started to walk a lot more?”

“Yes, and it’s killing me. I shall have to get a bicycle if the diocese funds will allow it.”

“I could have a look on Freecycle.” Jennifer was the local administrator for the free trading group. “I see bikes go up for grabs occasionally. I could even ask for one on your behalf if you like. It’s more reasonable than the post that I saw this morning that was asking for a luxury saloon car.” She bustled into the kitchen

Simon raised his voice. “Yes, please. That would be a big help. I’m glad our computer is good for something.”

“I couldn’t write without it.” Jennifer returned, placing a cup of tea in front of him. “It suits me to do all my research at the click of a button instead of spending hours poring over dusty books in the library.”

“Thanks.” Simon handed her the empty glass and picked up his tea. “The council had a meeting about the library. It seems a lot of people are of the same opinion and they’re thinking of closing it.”

Jennifer scowled. “We’ll see about that. I can soon rally a petition to save it.”

“What’s the point? If nobody uses it let it close.”

“I’ll have a word with Mrs. Sedgewick after church tomorrow. She’s been the librarian since we were tots.”

“Aye. She was a rabid old battleaxe and never changed. When’s dinner?”

“Not for an hour yet. You were home early for a Saturday.” Jennifer sat on the sofa. “Why don’t you go and tell Meinwen about Jean Markhew?”

“I don’t want to.” Simon kicked off his shoes and began massaging his feet.

Jennifer wrinkled her nose at the smell from his socks. “You need a shower. Preferably before I have to start opening windows.”

“It’s too early for an evening shower and too late for a morning one.” Simon took off his cassock to reveal mundane shirt and pants. He sat back down. “It would smack of vanity to have one now.”

“Being clean isn’t a deadly sin, you know.” Jennifer swapped to the farther end of the sofa. “Though your feet should be declared one.”

“I don’t care.” Simon replied. “I’ve had a shitty day and I just want to relax for half an hour.”

“Isn’t that sloth?” She went into the hall to hang his coat up.

* * * *

“We have unfinished business.” Jean Markhew trailed the end of her crop across Susan’s cheek, causing the younger woman to blush.

“Yes, ma’am.” She stood in the “ready” stance–feet shoulder-width apart and arms behind her back, each hand lightly touching the opposite elbow. Her back and head were straight, eyes facing forward.

Jean trailed the crop across her breasts and back. “Go to the dungeon, strip and wait for me.”

* * * *

“Nicole Fielding knocked on the door today.” Jennifer went into the kitchen, sure he would follow. For all Simon decried gossip he thrived on it.