The Cin Fin-Lathen Mysteries 1-3 (3 page)

“Thank you, as soon as the coffee runs out I will do
likewise.  I didn’t realize priests had business cards.  I can just imagine
what would be on an exorcist’s...sorry.”  I bit into my biscotti and
concentrated on my coffee.

Luckily for me, Amy came by for a chat and distracted him. 
I reached down and fumbled around in my bag until I came across my composition
book where I had written Angie Bathgate’s phone number.  I use black
composition books instead of fancy journals and organizers because they’re
cheap, but also because my handwriting is appalling.  If I try very hard you
can read seventy-five percent of the words.  The pages, however, don’t come out
easily, so instead of ripping a jagged wad of paper out of the book I opted for
the next best alternative, writing the information on the inside of a Hershey
chocolate bar wrapper.

“Here,” I said simply, handing him the wrapper.

“Hershey.  Any relation to Barbara Hershey?” he joked dryly
and put the wrapper away in his wallet.

Father Michael stood up and reached for his carry-on bag.  “Be
right back.”

I looked at my watch and calculated we would soon be
landing.  I arranged my things, located my passport and begged some mints off
of Amy.  I’m sure I smelled like a distillery.

Father Michael returned dressed in casual clothing.  He
stowed his bag under the seat for easy access.  I think he wanted me to say
something about his change of attire, so feeling peevish I didn’t.

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“No comment?”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Ms Fin-Lathen...”

“Come on Michael, it’s Cin to my friends.”  The casualness
of my address gave me away.

“Jesuits aren’t as...”

“Not many perks in Church of England territory,” I supplied.

“You could say that. How are you getting to Cornwall?” he
asked sitting down.

“I’m going to take a coach.  I only have one bag besides
this one to lug around.  Besides, I love the scenery once you get past
Plymouth.”

“So, you’ve been there before?”

“Yes, didn’t I tell you?  My daughter Noelle and I took a
vacation there years ago and ended up in Sennen Cove. It’s near Land’s End,
fabulous cliffs and beaches.  That’s one of the reasons I said yes so quickly
to the job.  Two days wasn’t nearly enough time to explore the area.

“I feel better knowing you’re familiar with the country.”

“A bit protective aren’t you?” I said a smidgeon too
sharply.  I always regret it when I snap at people and snapping at a priest is
inexcusable. 

“Cin, you have to realize this country isn’t a Masterpiece
Theatre program, it has real people and real dangers.”

“I can take care of myself,” I said defensively.

“You’re being a...”

“Don’t swear at me, it will limit your time in England.”

“How?”

“All that confessional time,” I said and got up once again
to use the bathroom.  I didn’t want to talk to him anymore.  I didn’t want the
warning to add credence to the bad feeling I already had.  I wanted a working
vacation in the country of which Noelle now lives in.  I wanted to read gothic
novels and not live them.  My thoughts blinded me, and I walked right into someone.

“I’m so sorry,” I addressed the beige blur before me.  As my
eyes focused the blur turned into a man dressed entirely in tan.

“Whom are you running from?”  He looked around me.

“Would you believe a priest?”

“Do you need some help?” His accent was British but more
theatrical than I was used to.

“No, no, I’m fine just a bit of temper to walk off.

Amy walked by and mentioned we would be landing soon.  I
apologized again, and he dismissed the incident with a wave of his hand, smiled
and asked if he could cut the queue for the bathroom.  I let him by.  I walked
back to my seat ignoring Father Michael’s sigh as he once again got up from his
seat to let me in.

“Who was that?” he questioned nodding at the tan man exiting
the restroom.

“I don’t know.”

“You seemed to know one another.” Father Michael hissed in
my ear as the man passed us on the way to his seat.

“No, I was just being friendly...”

“You better be careful being so friendly.”

“Father Michael Williams, isn’t covetousness one of the
seven deadly sins?”  I whispered back, adding, “In for one, in for seven?”

“I am just giving you counsel.”

I could tell by the new edge in his voice that I had made
him angry.  I hated leaving anyone that way.  “Sorry, bad joke. Still friends?”

“Being your friend is a tough job.”

“Not a job for the weak,” I wanted to add, or the pious, but
I knew enough to keep that thought to myself.

Father Michael and I parted after customs.  He headed for
the rental cars, and I to the gift shops.  I had a bit of a wait ahead of me
before my coach would leave for Cornwall. Gatwick airport is full of
interesting shops to browse through, so, in short, I wasn't inconvenienced so
much as I was in heaven.

It was after I was coming out of the third shop that I
noticed the tan man from the airplane waiting outside in the terminal.  Hadn’t
I seen him before waiting outside the first two shops that I had been in?  I
wasn’t sure.  When I’m shopping I seem to lose track of time and space.  This
time I studied his looks.  He was in his mid-fifties, wearing a tan raincoat,
tan shoes and carrying a tan umbrella – no suitcase.  Maybe his wife was
infected with the same consumerism I had?  Or maybe he was watching me.  Father
Michael’s overprotective comments had ruined my good time with the spoiling
effects of paranoia.

~

I was quite proud of myself for being first in the queue.  I
knew from previous trips on the coaches that if I wanted to get one of the
front window seats on the top of the bus I would have to be first in line.  Not
only did I get the seat I wanted but, also, since the coach wasn’t filled, I
had two seats to myself.  I wouldn’t have minded a seat partner.  Conversation
does make the time go faster, but sitting with Father Michael had used up all
of my company manners for today at least.

The eight-hour bus ride took me through the plains of Surrey
and wound its way via the A30 nonstop till we reached Exeter.  Noelle was
touring with her friend Paisley otherwise I would’ve met up with her then.  I
missed my petite blond daughter.  I loved how her green eyes would flash at me
when I teased her.  I had brought with me some clothing I found that would suit
her figure well.  It was very hard to fit Noelle.  Her impressive top digit was
one thing, but with a trim waist and boyish hips buying clothing for her was a
trial.  I had picked these outfits out from Victoria’s Secret.  Modesty aside,
sometimes a girl ought to show her assets.

The gift shop at the rest stop was unimpressive unless you
liked lurid fiction.  The American fast food chain restaurant there seemed to
assault my senses, so I didn’t spend much time in the building.  I stood
outside taking in the brisk temperature and boarded the coach as soon as the
doors opened.

The front of the coach’s second story was all windows.  When
I first sat down I felt a bit dizzy, but soon I was lost in the scenery.  The
fields that bordered the highway were gold, and I wondered what the farmers
were growing.  Hedgerows blooming in purples and pinks cut geometric paths
through the landscape of Devon.  The A38 brought us out of the fields and into
the hills.  The coach stopped in Plymouth and a few people left the bus but
more got on.  From now on the coach would be a local and would stop in
Falmouth, Bodmin, St. Ives and Penzance. I gave up my empty seat to a very
talkative housewife from St. Buryan, who introduced herself as ‘Ann no e,
nothing as fancy as that.’

She positively bubbled when she found out that I was not
only an American, but I was going to be staying with a member of her parish. 
Her father had worked the land at Bathgate, but she wasn’t too sure of whom, if
anybody was leasing it now.

I watched the landscape while listening to her running
commentary of the sights as we passed them.  I didn’t need to ask one question,
as she just loved the role of tour guide.  If she got anything wrong, a woman
named Marjorie, who was sitting within earshot, corrected her.  Sometimes they
got into a bit of a row, but all in all I loved it. 

“How are you going to get out to Bathgate?” Marjorie called
down the aisle.  Ann turned, and her face lit up when I said taxi.

“No, you won’t.  You will ride with Marjorie and me.”

“I don’t want to make a pest out of myself...”

“Nonsense!”  Ann turned around.  “Marjorie, she thinks she
is making a pest out of herself, imagine.”

“Completely odd, considering we go right by the place.”

I was contemplating if they meant I was completely odd - I
didn’t know it showed - or if it was the situation that was.  Anyway, I sat
back and listened to Ann’s explanation of how Marjorie and she were chums from
childhood.  Ann married a constable from St. Just and Marjorie a farmer who was
doing quite well with “the soybeans.”

“I couldn’t help noticing that you’re not sporting a wedding
ring.”

“No need any longer.”

“So are ya a widow or a divorcé?”

“Not a widow.”

“Hmm...So, do you have a boyfriend?” Ann whispered.

“Ann Cayne, you should be ashamed of yourself.  Asking such
a personal like question.  Well?”

“Well what?” Ann spouted back.

“Well does she?” Marjorie snapped.

I looked over the seat and noticed Marjorie was halfway back
in the coach.  Some ears!  I was certain as I surveyed the other thirty or so
faces turned my way that the whole top of the bus wanted to know the answer.

“Ahem,” I cleared my voice, “I don’t have time for a
boyfriend, thank you.  I play in two concert bands, and I have been, up to this
year, busy raising two children.” 

“I could have told you that,” piped up an old gentleman in a
tweed coat, “she doesn’t have the jewelry to be a tart.”

“Go to Bath, Andrew Morgan.  Who asked you?”

“Pardon me.  Hello.  Thank you, Mr. Morgan.  Yes, I don’t
have the jewelry. So you’re saying I would get better jewelry if I had a
boyfriend?”

“Depends.”

“Depends on what?”

“Now if he were a guv’na yes.  But if he were a fishmonger
then...”

“I would have fish.”

“Nah, you’d smell like fish!” Andrew laughed, and so did the
rest of the coach.  I sat back down feeling I had met my match.

“So when did you start off from the states?” Ann’s inquiry
continued.

“Yesterday afternoon.”

“That means you flew all night and with but the small
respite you got on the coach.  You must be very tired.”

“Actually, I slept on the plane.  I feel fine.”

“Why so quick?  Why the rush?”

“I am going to meet my daughter at Bathgate tomorrow
morning,” I explained.

Ann’s face fell.  “I thought it might have something to do
with the fire.  And here I am thinking you’re that fancy Fin-Lathen detective
Bobby sent out to help his sister.”

“Detective?” I asked shocked.

“My husband, the constable, told me he heard from Angie that
Bobby was sending out a professional detective from Florida to investigate the
goings on at the old music school.  He was coming himself, but he was attacked
and thrown to his almost death.” Ann nodded her head. 

I was sorry I asked, but when pointed in a direction I just
keep going.

“He was attacked?” I hoped I hid my surprise, not an
accident!  This was a troubling piece of news.

“Pushed down an escalator,” she said.

“Now tell me about this detective.”

“Bobby told Angie this detective found a million dollar
piece of music.”  Ann raised her eyebrows.  “The constabulary, ah police, the
police were struck stupid, but this Fin-Lathen solved the mystery.  And it
isn’t a man detective but a woman.”

“That’s pretty impressive.”  I smiled.  Now came my moment
of truth.  Do I tell these folks and suffer the questions?  Or do I keep quiet
and hope no one finds out whom I am?

The coach pulled into the Penzance station and saved me from
my dilemma.  I stepped out of the coach last; after all, I got in first.  My
bag was already unloaded and setting in the parking lot.  Ann was waving me
over to a bright red Ford with its trunk open.  I picked up the suitcase handle
and rolled it over.

“Put your bag in the boot.  You can have the front seat. 
Marjorie has already settled herself in the back.”

I surmised that “boot” was the trunk since it was open and
suitcases usually travel in them.  I lifted the bag and carefully shut it.  I
almost walked to the driver’s side but caught myself.  I quickly turned around
and headed for the left side of the car.

I sat down, put on my seat belt, and Ann started up the
car.  As we drove out of the lot, I looked at my watch trying to add the
difference of five hours between Florida and Cornwall.

“It’s four o’clock dear, tea time.”

“Oh my, it would be rude to arrive unannounced at tea time. 
Can I treat you ladies to tea somewhere in Penzance?”

Marjorie slapped the back of my seat.  “I haven’t had a
fancy tea in years.  What ya say, Ann?”

“The hotel, let’s go to the hotel and sit by the window!”

“Sure, we can show...Dear me, I didn’t catch your name.”

“Cin, my friends call me Cin.”

“Well Cin, we can watch the fishing boats come in.”

Ann drove over a bridge and around some touristy places that
hugged the waterfront.  She drove past an outdoor pool and several resident
hotels.  She stopped and parked the car across from a white clapboard hotel. 
We got out and crossed the street.  Marjorie had her hand on my arm to caution
me, as I still hadn’t got used to where to look for traffic.   We walked into
the hotel by entering a glassed-in porch.  There were several diners already
there.  I admit I was a bit travel-worn, but no one mentioned it.  Marjorie
went to find us a table while Ann and I went in search of the phones.  Ann
needed to call her husband and let him know why she’d be late, and I felt the
need to warn my hostess of my arrival.

I didn’t reach her, so I left a message.  “Hello, this is
Cindy Fin-Lathen,” I whispered into the phone.  “I’m having tea with a Marjorie
and Ann Cayne at the hotel in Penzance.  I should be arriving around
five-thirty or six.  They are going to drop me off.  Bye.”

I stood aside but could not help overhearing Ann's side of
her conversation.

“Now, dear, I told you she’s buying.  No, she’s not a
swell.  Visiting Bathgate.  Says her daughter is coming tomorrow.  What? Now
why would I mention the fire?  I have been your wife for how long?  Well you
should know better.  Could you call Ed and tell him?  What else would you have
to do?  It’s not like you’re a District Commander.  Ta ta!”  Ann smiled.  “My
husband the constable,” she said proudly.  I followed her to the dining room.

~

The sun was still high in the sky when Ann bumped onto Angie
Bathgate’s drive.  I had no sooner got my luggage out of the boot when Ann
closed the lid and drove off quickly without anything more than “Ta ta.”

Bathgate was shielded from the lane by a five-foot stone
fence that protected the front garden from the dust of the unpaved road.  Large
trees caressed the three-story stone house.  There was a front door, but I
noticed a well-trod path that led around to the side of the house.  When I was
growing up my grandparents had a city-farm out in the country.  They too had a
front door with an inviting porch, but I don’t ever remember them opening the
front door, or even sitting on the porch.  I thought that I would have a better
reception if I used the side door.

I was right.  Before I reached the porch the door flew
inward and a solidly built tan woman with gray wispy hair flying everywhere
stepped out.

“Ms Fin-Lathen!  Come on in.  Those two biddies must have
talked your ear off.  How did you ever get mixed up with those two gossips?”

“They were on the bus, ah, coach and unleashed.” I smiled
and picked up my bag and walked into a very pleasant side porch.  Angie closed
the door behind me.

“Still a bit of a chill out there.”  A phone rang and Angie
ignored it.  “Answer phone will get it.”

With a click the phone was answered by the stilted programmed
voice of the machine asking for name, phone number and a brief message:

Hullo this is
Beverly Bonner
.  Miss Bathgate, I’m
just calling to inform you that my client has upped his offer on the purchase
of Bathgate, intact.  There is a limit to the time he will wait to hear from
you.  Call me soon, you have my number. Ta Ta.

 “Lord, that woman again.  Three, four times a day bugging
me.  I told her I couldn’t do anything without Bobby.”  She led me through the
kitchen and into the warm front room.  She stopped in front of an open
staircase.

“Just put your bag here, and you can rest up before you drag
it up the stairs.”  Angie indicated where with a wave of her hand.

I set them down and turned to survey the parlor. 
Comfortable overstuffed furniture and book-covered tables were the
furnishings.  Bookshelves lined the walls, and lamps lit the room giving it a
feeling as if it were bathed in gold.

“This is a very nice room.”

“Here?  Not too posh but makes my old bones feel good at the
end of the day.  I light the fire and read.  There isn’t a telly or radio.  I
just like the quiet too much to pollute it with too much noise.”