The Advent of Murder (A Faith Morgan Mystery) (19 page)

“Mavis,” she began conversationally. “Your grandfather was a record-winning sheep breeder.”

Mavis looked temporarily pleased, a little imperious even. “We were all very proud of him and that stick.” Her expression darkened. “It’s gone now. Sadly it broke.”

“When – do you remember?”

“I can’t think.”

“This year?” Faith pressed.

“Yes – earlier this year. Spring sometime.”

“What happened to it?”

Mavis shot Ben a puzzled look under her lashes as if to say, why are you allowing this woman to waste our time?

“Please answer the vicar, Mrs Granger,” said Ben.

“I threw the bits away,” she said, addressing him pointedly.

“In the rubbish bin?” said Faith. Mavis wrinkled up her face as if this was an absurd line of questioning. For a moment, Faith wondered if they’d got this wrong, but then she remembered all the interrogations she’d sat in on, in the olden days. They fell into two categories, with rarely anything in between: the instant confessions, or the stubborn denials, even in the face of the evidence. Sometimes, she’d thought, they even convinced themselves they were innocent.

“I suppose I gave the bits to the dogs to play with,” she answered Faith carelessly. “They enjoy chewing sticks.” Faith frowned at the photograph.

“But isn’t that a metal presentation collar? I can’t imagine that would be good for your dogs’ teeth.”

“I must have thrown it away,” Mavis said, giving her a sour look.

“Seems odd,” said Faith. “Didn’t it have sentimental value?”

“I’m not a sentimental person,” said Mavis, biting off each word.

“Do you often walk down by the river?” Ben asked.

Mavis fluttered her eyelashes. “We walk all over. The boys like a lot of exercise. It keeps me slim.”

Ben reached into the box again.

“The reason I ask is because we recovered this by the river.” He showed her the twisted metal plaque.

Mavis swallowed, her eyes impassive.

The door to the hall opened and Pat stood in the gap. She was carrying a tray full of mugs of tea and a plate of homemade biscuits.

“So sorry to intrude,” she said cheerily, “but I thought you could do with some tea.” Peter leaped up from the table to take the tray from her, shooting a panicked look at Faith. Ben was lowering and ominously still.

“Thank you, Mrs Montesque,” Peter said hurriedly.

“Pat – if you don’t mind…” Faith intervened. But Pat wasn’t listening. Her eyes were on the photograph on the table.

“Why Mavis – that’s not you, is it? I mean, you look… oh, yes, that’s your walking stick!”

Ben’s look of anger passed suddenly. “Have you seen Mrs Granger with this stick recently?” he asked, relatively mildly.

“Well, yes. Mavis always walks with it when she has her dogs with her – that’s how she controls the big beasts.”

“Yes, of course,” Mavis responded irritably. “I was just telling Inspector Shorter how I broke it in the spring and I had to throw the pieces away.”

“That’s not right,” Pat said. “You had that stick at the Red Cross fair just at the beginning of this month. I was on the bric-a-brac stall and we were talking about Christmas gifts – don’t you remember? You were holding your grandfather’s stick then – the one you’re so proud of.”

“You’re mixing things up, Pat,” Mavis said tersely.

“I don’t mistake things like that,” replied Pat stubbornly. “I am very good with dates. I remember, clear as day. You were standing by my stall when one of those brutes growled at me and you tapped him with that stick. You had that stick with you then. I am certain of it.”

“You just have to insert yourself centre stage, don’t you! I am sorry, inspector, the stick I have been using for months is blond wood. You saw me with it down by the river, the day we met.” Mrs Granger threw a glance across to Faith as well, then refocused her charm on Ben. “Mrs Montesque is just making things up. There is a certain rivalry between us.”

“No, Mavis. Pat Montesque doesn’t make things up.” Faith’s voice was calm. “If she says she remembers seeing you with that stick at the Red Cross fair, then I believe her.” Pat was bristling with offence. Faith got up and piloted her to the door. “Thank you so much for the tea, Pat. It’s most welcome. But they’ll be coming in from the carol singing any moment. We need you out there.”

“You can count on me,” Pat said, and closed the door behind her.

Mavis’s eyes had once reminded Faith of flat pieces of sky.
Now
, she thought,
they just look blank
. In contrast, sitting there in his fashionable clothes with his well-groomed hands, Neil’s face was gaunt and his eyes bewildered. He hardly seemed to comprehend the scene unfolding before him.

“I think you took Anna’s phone when she left it on the counter at your florist shop that Saturday,” Faith said quietly. “You texted Lucas to come and meet you at the bridge.”

A ghost of a smile sketched itself on Mavis’s smooth face. She seemed pleased at her own cleverness. Then even that expression faded.

“What were you trying to do?” As she asked the question, Faith remembered that other time in this very room; Pat was exclaiming over Mavis’s burglary –
I remember how it upset you. Some stranger coming in, trampling through your home and touching your private things. It’s a violation.

“It must have been so hard to know that your husband had fathered another son with Trisha,” Faith said softly. Mavis jerked her head toward her.

“I say!” said Neil Granger. “Is this really—”

“With that cleaner!” said Mavis.

“Why did you have to stage the burglary?” Faith read the flicker in Mavis’s face. “You wanted to go through your husband’s desk?”

“The drawers were locked.” She threw a disdainful glance at her husband. “I wanted to know the truth. You never let me look at the accounts and I am a businesswoman. I am not some ignorant housewife. I tried to pick the locks, but one of them broke so I had to make it look like burglary.”

“How long had you known about Lucas?” Neil’s voice croaked.

“Since the summer, when Vernon started bringing him to the house. He had your eyes,” she told her husband casually. “And then there was that pendant on his keys. He did that deliberately to taunt me!”

“He knew about me?” Neil’s question was pathetic.

“Yes. But he hated you,” his wife answered with a certain satisfaction. “He told me on the bridge.”

“What happened at the bridge?” Faith asked. She wanted to get this over with.

“I only wanted to talk to him. He was confusing Vernon – asking questions, snooping about.
Saying
things about Vernon’s father. They got in a fight at the pub. He gave Vernon a black eye! At first I thought it was to do with Anna. You know – jealousy? But it was because Lucas was putting together the pieces. I wanted him to stop – to leave us alone. I had to use Anna’s phone. The boy would never have come otherwise.”

“Why didn’t you just talk?” Neil protested. Mavis flashed a venomous look at her crushed husband.

“He’d worked it out. It wasn’t hard, with all the
gifts
you lavished on her, was it? He said he deserved more money because his mother had suffered, and he needed it to take care of some relative.”

“So what happened?” Ben prompted.

“I had the boys with me. They didn’t like the little oaf. Jam nipped at him and that wretched charwoman’s lout kicked him. So I gave him a jolly good whack.” Mavis’s arm sketched a backhanded swing with something gripped in her right hand. “It certainly took him by surprise.” She stopped for a moment, contemplating her words. “I didn’t mean to kill him,” she said thoughtfully. “But his head bled.” She said the words as if she could taste them. “He fell back against the rail. It all seemed to take a very long time. He put up his hand in front of his face and it was covered with blood. He swore at me.”

Faith saw in her mind’s eye that bridge and the broken rail and the blood and poor Lucas, just a boy caught up in the complications of others’ lives.

“Is that why you hit him again?” She was amazed to hear her voice sound so composed.

“He
swore
at me,” she repeated. “And he was staring! As if it were my fault! He was the one who destroyed everything! I hit him again so hard the stick broke.” She motioned to the metal collar with a dismissive wave of her hand. “I thought I’d scooped up all the pieces, but I didn’t realize until later that the collar was missing.”

“What did you do with the rest?” asked Ben.

“Burned it,” she said.

“Mavis?” said Neil, as if just waking up. “What have you done?”

Galvanized, Mavis Granger lunged toward her husband. “You lied to me for seventeen years. You carried on with that woman while I kept your house.” She pointed at Neil’s wrists where the globular silver cufflinks glinted. “I remember when you bought those.” She met Faith’s eyes. She suddenly looked young and vulnerable, a scarred shell of the hopeful young woman in the photograph. “He brought me a gift too that time – a daisy pendant.” She stared at the people sitting around the table as if everything she’d done was perfectly rational. “A
daisy
,” she repeated bitterly. “Those are his favourite cufflinks – an infinity symbol! He gave the matching pendant to
her
. She wore it in our
house
.”

“Mrs Mavis Granger, I am arresting you on suspicion of the murder of Lucas Bagshaw…” Peter was gentle as he got to her feet and put the cuffs on. Mavis hardly noticed. Her eyes were fixed on Faith as if only she understood.

“I only wanted my family back,” she said.

The police, the Grangers, the carol singers, everyone had gone. Even Pat had taken her leave, informing Faith that she had invited Adam Bagshaw to join them for lunch at the vicarage, for the poor man shouldn’t be alone at Christmas and
the gospel of love is for all our neighbours.
Faith couldn’t help but smile. Ruth would panic at having another guest to feed, but knowing her sister, she’d rise to the challenge with aplomb.

She should be thinking about Midnight Mass. They would have to make do without Jim’s choir. In light of the past few hours, that seemed such a trivial concern. They would manage. Ruth and Sean and Mother were all waiting for her back at the vicarage. Her sister had texted to say that there was macaroni cheese in the oven – especially selected comfort food; fuel for the long evening ahead. But they would have seen the police cars, and Faith just couldn’t face explaining yet.

She kneeled at the altar rail alone in the light of the tree, and prayed. She prayed for Trisha Bagshaw and her beloved son Lucas, and for tortured Mavis Granger and her bewildered son, Vernon, and for Neil Granger, and for Anna too.

After a while, she felt more at ease. She got up and lit a candle for Trisha, and for Lucas. As she did so, she saw, vivid in her memory, the photograph of the loving Trisha between her two boys on the whatnot in the Bagshaws’ living room.
Adam will be all right
, she promised.
We’ll look out for him.

On a whim she went out through west door beneath the bell tower, so she could look back at the sparkling tree illuminating the nativity scene with its glow. Outside, the snow glimmered in the dark, and all around the Green the houses were lit as the inhabitants of Little Worthy ate their suppers. As she pulled the door shut, she heard a motorbike draw up on the road. She walked down the path toward the lychgate and there, on the other side, was Jim Postlethwaite wrapped up in his peacoat, an Arab keffiyeh swathed around his neck.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey, you.” It was cold out here. She wrapped her arms around herself and shuffled her feet. “I was so sorry to hear about your resignation. You didn’t have to do that, you know.”

“But you know why I did?”

“Because you were a heroin addict and you served a sentence for it.”

“More than that…”

“Your daughter.” She had heard the phrase “etched with sorrow”, but she’d never seen its application until now, looking at Jim in the light of the street lamp.

“Before that moment, I didn’t know the depth of misery you could feel for something you did. I woke up too late. I’ve tried to become a better person – but there are some things that just can’t be mended.”

“Mended,” she repeated. “Maybe not quite like that, but…” She glanced back at the ancient Saxon church behind them. “This church was built for the God who offers us the
chance to begin again. People have worshipped here for nine hundred years, so I think there must be something in it.”

He gave her his old crooked smile. “I wanted to see you,” he said, “to explain… I was trying to look out for the kids. Lucas and his friends, they invited me for a drink from time to time at the Lion’s Heart. I couldn’t believe it when I ran into Keepie. I did my best to keep him away from them. I am sorry if I misled you.”

“I appreciate the value of discretion…” she echoed. For a second he looked appalled, and then he smiled ruefully. “I was just teasing,” she said.

“I’m a bit fragile for that,” he said.

“Oh, Jim – I’m sorry.”

“By the way, some of the choir will still be here to sing tonight – seven or eight of them, I think. I told them to be here for 10:45. They know the order of service.”

“That’s wonderful!” She was so touched. “Thank you so much. Will you stay?”

He shook his head. “I’m on my way up to Manchester.”

“Tonight?”

“I phoned my wife. She and my daughter, they’re staying up there with friends. Ellie says we can spend Christmas together. I want to be there by morning.”

“I am so very pleased for you,” she said.

“It’s a beginning.”

“Yes, it is. One day at a time, huh?”

“One day at a time.” He looked down at his gloved hands gripping the handlebars. “I wanted to thank you…”

“What for?”

“For seeing the best in me.”

“I’m not naive, you know,” she grinned. “I am a good judge of character.”

He expelled a breath through his nose, and gave a small, self-deprecating smile. He started up his bike.

“Goodbye, Faith Morgan.”

“God bless you, Jim Postlethwaite.”

Jim’s soloist had a clear, golden voice. She sang like an angel from the choir loft in the darkness, heralding the glow of the procession as they carried their candles down the aisle toward the altar and the tree blossomed into light.

It was a promise of hope that made the hairs stand up on her arms and expanded her heart. Faith looked around at the faces before her: Fred and Pat, the Grays and the Markhams, Sue and her family, Clari and Timothy with theirs, and even her own family – her mum, with Ruth and Sean. It was her first Christmas in St James’s, Little Worthy. They’d made it and soon she could sleep.

They had a full house. Everyone was in good voice. And the best Christmas present of all came from Fred, who offered Adam Bagshaw a job at his agricultural supply business. Pat was genial, with Adam by her side holding Mr Marchbanks in his kitty carrier.

“A good attendance for your first Christmas at Little Worthy,” she complimented Faith graciously. “I don’t think I remember a better turnout, even in Reverend Alistair’s day.”

Back at the vicarage, Ruth was in her element, rejoicing in the Aga and in having people to cook for and to admire her
table settings. Pat got on well with their mother, Marianne, both old ladies fussing over Adam Bagshaw and exclaiming at his skill in fixing Marianne’s broken reading glasses.

At four o’clock, and an hour later than planned, they served lunch. Their guests waited in the dining room while Faith and her mother served up side by side in the kitchen. Faith had just filled a dish of roast parsnips when she noticed her mother’s anxious expression.

“Your father’s late,” her mother said. Faith felt the chill spread from the top of her head down her spine. She swallowed.

“Dad’s dead, Mum,” she said gently. “He’s been gone for five years.” The confusion in her mother’s eyes squeezed Faith’s heart. She watched her pull herself together.

“Of course he is, dear. It’s this time of year… I don’t know what I was thinking. I’d better get these on the table.” Her mother made a slightly wobbly turn and carried the dish out of the room. Faith realized she was being watched and turned to see Ruth in the doorway, watching her with an expression of unsettling compassion.

“You’ve got a visitor, Faith,” said her sister. “He won’t come in.”

“Thanks.”

Ben stood at the threshold. She was so pleased to see him she threw her arms around him and hugged him, burying her face in the warm, solid oblivion of his black coat. His strong arms enfolded her. She felt his chin on the top of her head. He was a wall around her, keeping her safe, just for an instant.

Ben moved his head. She felt his lips tickle her ear.

“What’s up?”

“Nothing. I’m fine.” She stepped away, smiling up at him. Maybe he wouldn’t notice the tears in her eyes. “Just pleased to see you. Happy Christmas.”

“Right.” His eyes began their forensic examination, but then he let it go.

“Will you join us for lunch?”

He lifted his eyebrows in his most saturnine look. “What do you think?”

“No,” she said with regret. He fetched a small cardboard box out of his pocket.

“Didn’t have time to wrap it, but this is for you. Thanks for the help with the confession. I guess you always had it in you, this priest stuff.”

She opened the box. There in a nest of tissue paper was a delicate Christmas tree decoration. She put it on the flat of her palm – a tiny metal boat with bronze foil sails and a little ruby pennant unfurled in the breeze. She could feel the ridiculous grin spread across her face.

He cleared his throat. “Just nonsense, of course.”

Faith looked up at him, eyes glowing. Ben shrugged. “Reminded me of that tatty old centrepiece your mother always brought out this time of year.”

“I love it.” They stood there with time suspended for a moment, just the two of them.

“Got to go,” he said at last.

“You’re on duty,” she finished for him. “Volunteered again?”

“You know me – not my time of year.”

She watched him go, hoping that he might at least look back and give her a smile. He didn’t.

A CD of Christmas carols was playing in the front room. The sweet melancholy of the melody carried to her above the chatter and laughter of her guests in the dining room.

She crossed the hall to join her family.