Body in the Woods (A Reverend Annabelle Dixon Cozy Mystery Book 3) (22 page)

“What?” Annabelle said, picking up on Philippa’s hesitation. “What is it?”

With an unconvincing sigh of reluctance, Philippa spoke quietly, as if someone nearby might hear.

“Now Vicar, you know I hate nothing more than gossip and rumor-mongering. If I have one sin, it’s that I’m harshly judgmental of those who engage in it…”

“Go on,” Annabelle urged, stemming the impulse to roll her eyes. Philippa’s skills in ferreting out village tittle-tattle were legendary.

Philippa sighed once again, even looking around her carefully to add weight to her words.

“This is probably just idle speculation, of the kind dull types use to sound more intriguing, and bored types use to fill the time-“

“Come on, Philippa! At this rate, I really will catch a cold by the time you tell me!”

“Well,” Philippa said, unaffected by Annabelle’s impatience, “I’ve heard it muttered in certain circles that a number of families are having financial difficulties.”

Annabelle sipped her tea and frowned.

“Doesn’t every family have financial difficulties at this time of year? So soon after taking expensive summer holidays, when the heating bills start coming in, and Christmas is just around the corner?”

“Perhaps, Reverend,” Philippa said, her tone still conspiratorial and low, “but there’s an added element here. You see, a lot of the women are complaining that their husbands are being stingy with their money, hiding it away. They’re even saying the men are spending more and more time away from the home.”

Annabelle took another sip and frowned once more.

“Is that really anything new as well, Philippa? The soccer season is in full swing, and it’s too cold to do anything but go to the pub in the evening.”

This time it was Philippa who frowned, annoyed that her privileged, secretive knowledge had been dismissed.

“Perhaps, Reverend,” she said, in a tightly-controlled tone, “but I just thought you’d like to know what your parishioners were saying.”

“I’m sorry, Philippa. You’re right. Maybe there is something to it. But financial difficulties or not, the result is the same.” Annabelle turned back to face the gravestones. “Without help, this cemetery will remain a sorry state of affairs. If it snows again this year, I daren’t think how much worse it could get.”

“I’m sorry, Reverend. I’m sure we’ll get it fixed,” Philippa said, placing her hand once more on the Vicar’s arm.

“Thank you for being so positive, Philippa,” Annabelle said, placing a hand over her friend’s. “You know, I’ve taken to coming out here and saying my prayers. Even though it’s cold and rather ugly, I’ve always felt like saying my prayers in places that needed them most.” Annabelle smiled self-deprecatingly. “I know it’s terribly superstitious and silly for a Reverend, but I even find myself looking for a sign. Some sort of signal from the Lord that’ll help guide me.”

Just then, the air was filled with a low, powerful, rumbling sound. It rolled through the air like a wave before dissipating.

Philippa and Annabelle clutched at each other’s arms.

“What was that?!” Philippa squealed.

“I don’t know!”

“Did you hear it?”

“Of course I heard it! I wouldn’t be grabbing your arm if I hadn’t!”

Once again, the low hum sounded out again, louder and more melodic this time. The two women turned to face each other, their eyes wide and mouths open with awe.

Then Annabelle sighed and chuckled, as more notes were added, and the throbbing sound turned into a moving, atmospheric melody; the distinctive sound of the church organ.

“It’s only Jeremy!” Annabelle said, as Philippa let go of her arm and slowly returned to a state of calm.

“So it is,” Philippa said, smiling. “He scared me to half to death! It’s rather early for him, though, isn’t it? He doesn’t usually start practicing until ten, and it’s only eight.”

Annabelle handed her empty cup back to Philippa before straightening her clerical robe.

“I’ll see what he’s up to. You’d better go feed those pups before they start digging up this graveyard for bones.”

“Of course, Vicar,” Philippa said, turning away and leading Annabelle out of the graveyard.

“Did Olivia give you any word on whether the shelter will be able to house them soon?”

“Not yet, Vicar,” Philippa replied, “I shall have a word with her today though, I imagine.”

“No rush,” Annabelle smiled, “I rather like having them around. Dogs are such happy creatures. I rather think of them as a blessing, turning up out of the blue like that.”

“Considering the state of them when they were found, both huddled around their mother in the freezing cold, whining like human babies, I rather think they’re the ones who feel blessed right now.”

They smiled at each other as they went their separate ways; Philippa toward the cottage, and its two wet-nosed house guests, and Annabelle toward the church and its diligent, early-rising organ master.

“Jeremy!” she called, over the cascade of notes. “Jeremy! Yoohoo!”

It was only when Annabelle was close enough to Jeremy to wave energetically in his field of vision that he stopped playing, so deeply was he engrossed in the music. He noticed her with a start and pulled his hands away abruptly.

“Oh! Sorry, Vicar. I didn’t see you there,” he said, in his soft voice.

He was a tall, slim man, his rather pasty face topped with neatly-thatched blond hair. Despite his pale complexion, his blue eyes, and his thin, pink lips that all betrayed his youthfulness, his penchant for thickly-knitted sweaters and sharply-creased trousers indicated a taste that was much older than his twenty-eight years.

“Don’t apologize,” Annabelle said, “it’s rather lovely. If a little macabre at this time of the morning.”

“It was Brahm’s Requiem. One of my favorite pieces. I tend to play slower pieces in the morning, to warm up the fingers,” he said, holding his fingers up and wiggling them with a polite smile.

“Indeed,” Annabelle replied, marveling at his hands. “I must say, I continue to be amazed by the size of your hands, Jeremy. I’ve never seen such long and elegant fingers! They are quite extraordinary.”

Jeremy nodded gracefully. “My old pastor in Bristol said that ‘the Lord provides the very gifts we require in order to worship Him.’”

Annabelle smiled. Jeremy was one of the most devout members of her flock as well as one of the most recent additions. He had moved to Upton St. Mary six months ago and made Annabelle’s acquaintance very quickly, presenting himself at the first opportunity in order to offer his services. She quickly found a use for him as the church organist. Jeremy immediately set to work cleaning and repairing the church’s vintage organ. It was a complex contraption, with pipes that reached up one side of the stained glass window on the church’s north wall, but Jeremy was up to the job.

Until Jeremy arrived, the organ had stood dormant since the death of the previous church organist in 1999. Few of the members of Annabelle’s parish even knew the pipes were there until they blasted into life one Sunday morning on Jeremy’s command. It caused quite a stir. Postmistress Mrs. Turner nearly fainted, and Mr. Briggs, the local baker, thought he was having another heart attack. They both had to be attended to by paramedic Joe Cox while Annabelle worriedly hovered close by, mentally making note to raise the idea of a defibrillator at the next parish council meeting.

Since then, Jeremy had taken it upon himself to keep the pipes sparkling clean. They often shimmered in the early morning glow that poured forth through the church’s colorful windows. Ever the assiduous and attentive caretaker, Jeremy also kept the keys dusted, the pedals oiled, and the wood that encased it all, well-polished.

His accompaniments to the hymns and other musical arrangements were an instant success, adding yet another quality to Annabelle’s already popular services. The villagers quickly found themselves drawn to the shy, quiet, young man with nimble fingers who blossomed when conversation turned to the Bible. Some of the more excitable ladies of the village had even taken it upon themselves to find the bachelor a nice young woman to meet.

For now, though, Jeremy was staying with his grandmother, a pleasant woman in her nineties who lived alone in the village. Her health had recently taken a turn for the worse, and the support of her neighbors was no longer enough to ensure her wellbeing. Jeremy had left his position as a music teacher in Bristol to care for her during what many felt would be her last stretch on this earth.

“It’s rather early even for you, isn’t it?” Annabelle inquired.

“I do apologize, Vicar. I would have looked for you, but I saw the door to the church was open and thought it best not to disturb you if I could – though I obviously did!”

“Oh no, not at all!” Annabelle chuckled. “You just startled us. We were standing in the cemetery when you began. Not the sort of place you suddenly want to hear a requiem! I thought the dead were about to rise up!”

Jeremy’s face remained solidly blank.

“Nobody but the Lord is capable of such a thing, Vicar, as you well know,” he said, in a clipped monotone.

Annabelle’s chuckle was quickly replaced with a look of awkward seriousness. If there had been one deficit in their otherwise easy relationship, it was Jeremy’s distinct lack of humor – particularly regarding matters of faith.

“Of course,” Annabelle said, in her most sanctimonious of voices. “Well… Carry on.”

Jeremy nodded and turned back to the church organ as Annabelle spun on her heel and walked briskly away, her cheeks flushed with red.

Annabelle’s discomfiture was quickly dispelled, however, when she stepped out of the church doors and caught sight of Philippa coming from the cottage with two bounding, lively puppies at her heels. Their faces with their large black noses and big brown eyes were framed by pairs of floppy ears that flapped constantly in the bouncy manner of pups. Both tan in color, the female of the two was distinguished by a white streak that ran from the tip of her long snout to the top of her head. The moment they heard Annabelle’s feet on the gravel, they quickly ran to greet her.

“
Hello!
” Annabelle cooed cheerily, crouching down to scrub their ears. They yipped and panted their approval. She looked up at Philippa. “Are you taking them to Olivia?”

“Yes,” Philippa said, attaching the leashes while Annabelle distracted them with her petting. “For a check-up and a chat. Are you
sure
you want me to give them to the shelter?”

Annabelle pursed her lips regretfully as she continued to stroke the soft fur of the floppy-eared strays.

“Oh, I don’t know, Philippa. It’s a terribly big responsibility. We would have to buy all sorts of things for them, and what about the flowers? Once they get bigger, they might trample all over the garden!”

“Hmm, they haven’t done it yet. They’ve actually been rather well-behaved for a couple of puppies.”

“They certainly have,” Annabelle said, giving them one more playful chuck behind the ears before standing up. “But dogs are like people – they have the capacity to do the most unexpected things.”

Philippa smiled. “But you do say that it is our duty to help our fellow man when he is in need. I’m sure that applies to dogs too.”

“We’ve already got Biscuit.”

“Oh! That cat is never around anyway! Plus she’s already taken a shine to the pups. You should have seen them all sleeping together this morning.”

“You seem awfully fond of them. Why don’t you adopt them yourself?”

“I would, Reverend, but I spend so much time at the church that they might as well live here all the time.” She looked down at the two pups, standing to attention, their tails wagging, and their big brown eyes fixed upon Annabelle. “Plus they seem to have made their own preference rather clear.”

“We’ll see,” said Annabelle, nodding a farewell and heading toward the cottage.

It was still early when Annabelle got into her Mini Cooper and shut the door with the same satisfaction as the day she had first driven it. She settled herself snugly into the seat, drew her seatbelt across her chest, and turned the keys in the ignition. The motor chugged into life, and Annabelle felt a sense of girlish delight emanate from her fingers upon the wheel. As long as she could drive her little Mini wherever she liked, she would be happy; a simple, but endless, pleasure.

The car had always been more than a mere mode of transport for the Reverend. As she spent most of her time either in church or around others, her time in the car was a much appreciated opportunity to enjoy the idyllic landscapes that surrounded Upton St. Mary in solitary contemplation. After all, the fervent beauty of the small, Cornish village and the local countryside had been one of the most compelling reasons to leave her inaugural clerical position in her hometown of London.

The deeply satisfying sensation of being cocooned in the Mini’s small yet cozy interior while the exquisite English landscape sped by her window was never greater than during winter. The cold weather made it difficult to take the kind of striding jaunts across blooming fields and sun-speckled woods she enjoyed so much in the summertime. However, with the Mini’s tiny heater on full blast, and its puppy-esque enthusiasm for the open road, she never felt confined.