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

“A decade?!”

Harper nodded, the moonlight skipping along her wavy hair. “Judging by the tissue quantities and the large number of roots that have grown around it. It’s why the excavation still has some way to go.”

Nicholls scratched his stubble and looked off toward the rhythmic blue glow being cast over the road.

“Is there anything else you can tell me?”

“Not much,” Harper replied. “The body is in a fetal position, but that could mean anything. Defending against an attacker, huddling for warmth, disposal into a small hole – I don’t know. That’s your job.”

Nicholls sighed deeply.

“We’re never going to close a case this cold.”

“There is one request I’d like to make,” Harper said, maintaining her cool, assertive tone of voice despite her slight alarm at the Inspector’s level of pessimism so early in the case.

“What’s that?”

“I’d like a second opinion on this body. There’s a lot of damage. It’s difficult to ascertain what may be suspicious and what is the effect of decay, root growth, or simply the person’s health in life. If I’m to make any judgments, I’d like the opinion of a forensic anthropologist.”

“Do you have anybody in mind?”

For the first time, DI Nicholls detected a slightly regretful expression on the face of Harper Jones. He immediately dismissed it as a trick of the light, but Harper’s somewhat wistful tone caused him to reconsider.

“Yes, actually.”

“Okay. Well, bring them on board. I’m willing to pull in anyone who can help.”

“That’s good,” Harper said, turning her head toward the road, “because I believe you’re about to gain another ally.”

Nicholls turned his head just in time to see a royal blue Mini Cooper pull up neatly behind a police car.

They watched as the large, unmistakable frame of Reverend Annabelle Dixon stepped out of the car and strode over to a nearby officer. After exchanging a few words, the constable gazed across the open stretch of land and pointed them out.

“Oh great,” muttered Nicholls as Annabelle waved cheerily and began striding toward them, her smile visible even in the darkness. Harper raised her torch to reveal where they were, causing Annabelle to squint and stumble backwards in its blinding glare.

“Don’t be proud,” Harper said quietly, as she turned back toward the woods. “The Reverend is a smart cookie – and you’re going to need all the help you can get with this one.”

DI Nicholls gazed at the looming figure of Annabelle coming toward him, arms in full marching mode. When she got close, she took one step too many and clattered into him.

“Oops!” she said, unconvincingly. “Terribly dark, isn’t it?”

“I’m afraid I’m busy, Reverend.”

“Whatever’s going on, Inspector?”

“I can’t tell you. It’s police business and classified. The one thing I can tell you is that you’ll have to move along.”

Disregarding the Inspector’s dismissive tone, Annabelle decided to keep probing.

“It looks serious,” she remarked, turning her head toward the bright lamps of the forensic team. “I hope nobody was hurt.”

Nicholls remained silent.

Annabelle was rather fond of the Inspector, more than a little fond if the rumors were to be believed, but she found his silence somewhat rude and unfriendly. Not least because she had only recently helped the Inspector solve a particularly tricky case. Nonetheless, Annabelle, her big, warm heart nearly always bursting with generosity, was determined, happy even, to place the blame for the Inspector’s grumpiness on his long drive from Truro.

“Do you know whose body it is?” asked Annabelle, matter-of-factly.

The lines of DI Nicholls’ frown were so deep that they were visible even by the faint light of the moon.

“Who told you there’s a body?!”

“Nobody!” Annabelle responded jovially. “I simply noticed the forensic team working busily away. There are only two things I can think of that would demand so many people be plugging away at the ground – the discovery of treasure or a dead body. And you don’t need so many policemen to unearth treasure!”

Annabelle laughed easily, unable to notice the Inspector’s scowl in the darkness.

“I’ll hope you’re not planning to go around telling people there’s a dead body in the woods, Reverend.”

“Heavens, no! But I don’t imagine it’ll be a secret for long.”

“Why’s that?”

“Well, this road gets rather busy in the morning. It’s one of the main commuter routes. You’ll have plenty of rubberneckers spreading gossip before most people have had their morning coffee!”

Nicholls sighed defeatedly. He hated gossip, especially when it involved a case of his and even more so when it involved a case as open as this. Once it started, he would be stumbling upon more red herrings than one would find in a mystery novel.

“Goodbye, Reverend,” DI Nicholls said, decisively.

“Bye, Inspector!”

Both of them took a step in opposite directions before DI Nicholls looked back.

“Reverend? Your car is that way.”

“Oh I know, Inspector. I’m still on my daily rounds and thought I’d pay the good Ms. Alexander a visit.”

Nicholls considered trying to dissuade the Reverend, but he knew her well enough to know it was a lost cause. He nodded grimly and headed back toward the forensic team.

Annabelle was not immune to the Inspector’s bizarrely downbeat manner, and she could only surmise that whatever – or whoever – was buried in the woods behind Honeysuckle House was a cause for great concern. If anyone knew what was happening, it would be Shona Alexander, her bouncy young nephew being the only one who frequented those woods daily.

She walked briskly closer to the welcoming light of Honeysuckle House’s decorated windows. Pots of herbs, and aromatic flowers were neatly arranged beneath them. As she opened the wooden gate to Shona’s wildflower garden, she noticed Constable Raven coming in the opposite direction.

“Constable Raven!”

“Oh, hello Reverend. Strange to see you out this late.”

“It’s not that late, Constable. The days are simply getting shorter.”

Jim Raven looked up at the sky.

“I suppose you’re right. It’s going to get cold soon, I’d better get my boiler fixed.”

“Constable,” Annabelle said, seriously. “What is all this fuss about in the woods?”

Constable Raven shook his head slowly. “I’m sorry, Reverend. I’m under strict orders from Detective Inspector Nicholls to keep this as secret as possible.”

“I had a feeling you might say that. But it must be something rather concerning to have the Inspector so worked up.”

Raven allowed himself a wry smile. “Are you referring by chance to the chief’s foul mood? I’m afraid that’s got nothing to do with the case. He’s been acting like he swallowed a wasp for weeks now.”

“Why?” asked Annabelle, leaning forward with keen interest.

Raven shook his head.

“Constable Colback tells me nobody in Truro has the faintest idea what’s bothering him. It’s an even bigger mystery than the body in the woods. Ah—”

Raven stuttered, looking for something to say that would distract Annabelle from his slip of the tongue. Annabelle chuckled.

“Relax, Constable. I had already figured that out.”

Raven’s shoulders dropped a full inch, deflated. “It’s nice of you to fib, Reverend, but I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Forget about it, Constable,” Annabelle said, stepping past him. “I’ll see you about the village, I expect.”

“Yeah,” muttered Constable Raven, still shaking his head at his own stupidity.

“You’re not planning to ask Ms. Alexander about this, are you?”

Annabelle smiled. “I was actually planning to ask her how she was managing to keep her basil so vital at this time of year, but I expect this will be a rather unavoidable subject.”

Constable Raven nodded as if receiving bad news, before turning around and making his way out of the garden and back toward the crime scene. As he went on his way, he decided that his spilling the beans was no fault of his own. It was Reverend Annabelle. She simply had a very sharp knack for uncovering secrets.

CHAPTER 2

ANNABELLE RUNG THE doorbell and almost immediately heard Shona Alexander’s Scottish brogue grow louder as she made her way to the door.

“I think this is quite enough for one night. I’ve already fallen behind on my chores. I’ve got an unbelievably muddy school uniform to mend, and — Oh! It’s you, Reverend!” Shona’s flustered face appeared at the door. Her expression had quickly turned to one of relief when she saw who was standing there. “I’m sorry, Reverend, I’ve just been run ragged by all these policemen and their questions. There are only so many times you can tell people that you don’t know anything before you start going mad.”

“I understand, Shona. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, Reverend,” Shona sighed. “I just need a little peace and quiet.”

“Is Dougie holding up?”

“Oh, that little rascal,” she said, gesturing the Reverend inside and closing the door, “he’s indestructible. He was shaken more by the Inspector than the body, I think.”

Annabelle nodded ruefully as she entered the kitchen and took a seat at the table. Shona picked up the kettle.

“Tea?”

“That would be lovely,” cooed Annabelle.

“How are things at the church?” asked Shona as she sat down.

“They’re ticking over smoothly,” Annabelle said, “which is all you can really ask for. I think Philippa has been rather bored lately, honestly. The church accounts don’t make for riveting reading at this time of year, not during the quiet time between the summer fête and the harvest festival. I’m sure she’ll have plenty to talk about tomorrow though, once the news spreads. What about you?”

“Och,” Shona said, waving the comment aside. “I’ve got more than enough to occupy my mind these days.”

Annabelle noted the sadness in Shona’s liquid-blue eyes. She was an attractive woman, though she had never married. After spending her formative years in Scotland, she had moved down to the south of England in order to pursue her passion for painting and pottery. Her family had been wealthy, and supportive, yet the young Shona Alexander was keen to strike out on her own. She had moved to Honeysuckle House, a property her family had owned for generations, full of excitement at her impending independence. But after years of only moderate success in her artistic endeavors, she had settled into a life of quiet routine; the odd exhibition in Truro, taking on the occasional commission, and more recently, the task of caring for her nephew.

Shona had always lived a life of her own design, but in recent years she had felt a lack of something profound, something larger than herself that she could dedicate herself toward. Her sister’s illness had only added to her moroseness, and though the arrival of Dougie had offered plenty to occupy both her mind and hands, it had also reminded Shona of what she had been missing: companionship. She was lonely.

“How is your sister doing?” Annabelle asked softly.

“She’ll be having a test next week to see, so I’ve got my fingers crossed.”

“I’ll say a prayer for her.”

“Thank you, Reverend. I think she’s finding the chemo tough.”

Annabelle nodded solemnly. Shona stood up and got to work making the tea. Annabelle gazed at the paintings around the room. They were mainly watercolors that depicted the various familiar hills and locations of Upton St. Mary. She had always loved Shona’s work, and indeed, had first become friends with her when commissioning a small piece that now hung in her church office.

“Annabelle!” squealed Dougie from the doorway.

“Hello, you!” Annabelle replied as the boy walked toward her.

“Dougie! Where are your manners? You’re to call the Reverend, ‘Reverend’.”

“It’s fine,” Annabelle said, tousling the young boy’s hair affectionately. “You’ve certainly been the center of attention today, haven’t you Dougie?”

Dougie beamed proudly.

“I found a skeleton!”

“Dougie!” exclaimed Shona. “It was just a bone!”

“But I heard them
say
it was a skeleton!” Dougie asked, utterly confident in his assertion.