The Advent of Murder (A Faith Morgan Mystery) (8 page)

“Mrs Taylor pushed a note through my door – I can’t tell you when,” Pat snapped. “It must have been the middle of the night; I found her note on my mat in the morning. She was
very
sorry, of course, but something had come up – and, as for Alice Peabody… I’ve told you before, that girl never keeps her promises. I was left facing two crates of oranges all on my own!”

“Pat, I am so sorry, I was diverted… a pastoral visit – to Adam Bagshaw. The uncle of the murdered boy. It seemed important that someone visit him. I am sure you understand priorities?” Pat sniffed. Faith pressed her advantage. “The only two family members Adam Bagshaw had have been brutally taken from him within the space of a year. The man is devastated. He needs – he deserves – compassion and support;
our
compassion and support.” Pat blinked. “The gospel of love is for all our neighbours,” Faith said gently.

Pat pressed her lips together in a tight line, as if she regarded Faith’s sophistry as a little suspect. “Well, as it happened, Fred came by.” Her voice strengthened. “And as for Alice Peabody, she turned up eventually –
forty
minutes late. She had that young man of hers in tow; the one in the army. All excited because he’s come home from leave. Of course, we all support our brave boys. A bit on the rough side, but very willing.” Pat gave her the brave smile of a Woman Who Copes. “Anyhow, the Christingles are all done. We got through them.”

The council co-ordinator put her head through the door.

“Hello, vicar! Mrs Montesque, just to say, I’m off for a bit of lunch. See you back here at one?” she said brightly. Pat gave her a frosty nod.

“Well – that gives us a breather anyway,” she said, as the woman departed.

“Sue and Clarisse will be here soon,” Faith said. “We can discuss together what’s to be done. Don’t you want to pop back home and have some lunch?” she asked, hoping for a brief reprieve herself.

“I had a late breakfast,” Pat answered, firmly. “I’ve brought a Thermos of coffee and some of my strawberry shortbread. Would you care to join me?”

They sat in a rear pew. Pat spread a large handkerchief between them and fetched a Thermos and a tin printed with transfers of Princess Diana and Prince Charles from her tartan shopping bag.

“Did you hear that it was Oliver Markham who found the Bagshaw boy on his land?”

Faith hadn’t been expecting that. Had Pat finally realized that the pageant was missing its Joseph? And what had Mavis told her about seeing Faith at the scene? She quickly stuffed a piece of strawberry shortbread in her mouth and chewed to
buy herself time. She widened her eyes enquiringly, but Pat wasn’t looking at her as she poured out the coffee.

“The family’s been away, of course – for the weekend. Mrs Markham took the girls shopping in London.” Pat’s tone was faintly envious. “They spoil those girls. Mind you, couples often do, when they have problems.” Faith looked at her, startled. Pat tilted her head knowingly. “Money problems. Oliver’s business is not doing well and
she’s
keeping them going with that high-powered job of hers. If you ask me, that marriage is in trouble…” Holding her plastic cup delicately, she took a sip of coffee.

Faith wondered where this was going. She didn’t approve of gossip – although she remained grateful Pat wasn’t homing in on the pageant.

“Pat, we don’t know anything about the Markhams as a family,” she said, selecting another piece of shortbread. It was really rather good.

“Well, of course, they are new to the parish,” said Pat, “but how often have you seen the pair of them together with their girls? She’s always working away – Julie? Is that her name? A mother should be at home. Children need guidance, particularly girls, and the Markham girls are
that age
.”

“That age?” queried Faith, feigning ignorance.

“
Boys
,” said Pat, simply.

Without warning, the nursery rhyme sang in Faith’s head – “
Snakes and snails and puppy-dog tails; that’s what little boys are made of.
” She realized Pat was frowning at her. Faith swallowed.

“Well, it seems they were all in London together having fun as a family this weekend,” she commented. “It’s different nowadays, Pat. Often both parents have to work just to make ends meet.”

“Well, they’re back home now.”

That was news. Trust Pat to know the latest. If Oliver Markham had been released, perhaps his alibi had checked out. Perhaps he had been cleared? Pat watched her with a speculative look. The Joseph question! Faith stood up abruptly.

“Pat – I must make a call, if you’ll excuse me a moment. This shortbread is delicious.”

She hurried off to the church porch, phone in hand. She found the Markham home number and pressed call. The phone rang and rang. Then the anonymous phone lady clicked in: “
The person you have called is not available at this time…
”

That could mean all sorts of things. Faith wished she knew how the checks on Markham’s alibi were going. She left her name and a message that she’d try again later.

If only she could get hold of Peter Gray. What time was it? Lunchtime. She imagined Peter eating his lunch in the greasy spoon cafe by the police station where CID liked to hang out. Maybe he would tell her what was going on. Peter was a member of her congregation, after all, and the pageant was less than two weeks off. She needed to know if she should be looking for a replacement to play Joseph.

“Break out the tea! Reinforcements have arrived.” A familiar voice hailed her from the wicket gate. Moments later, Faith was swept into Sue’s warm embrace. Clarisse hugged Faith with more restraint, as befitted her elegance. They all beamed at one another. Faith felt her spirits lift.

“What do you need us to do?” Clarisse asked, her tawny eyes twinkling.

“We have a diplomatic situation,” Faith declared with deliberate exaggeration. “The civic centre co-ordinator – the one who has been liaising with the schools? – she’s expecting the church to be decorated. And as Pat has pointed out…”

“Ah!” They both appreciated the problem immediately. They followed Faith into the church. She could feel them close at her back. What a wonderful thing it was to have good friends. “The children from Green Lane Primary have made Santa Claus lanterns,” Faith added, plaintively.

“Oh dear!” Sue responded. The three of them paused, gazing at one another a moment.

“I know. The Spicer wedding!” Clarisse exclaimed.

Sue nodded approvingly.

“Good thought! The Spicer wedding.”

“The Spicer wedding?” echoed Faith, lost. They linked arms with her, one on each side, and marched her off toward the organ.

“Last year. Very posh. Loads of money,” Sue said, rolling her eyes.

“They didn’t want the decorations – they left them behind and we put them in the loft,” Clarisse explained. “The theme was purple.”

“Dark purple and cream. Very fitting,” Sue pulled a face of clownish approbation. Faith laughed out loud. They stopped at the ladder leading up to the roof space behind the organ. “Clari can show you. I don’t like ladders.” Sue looked up at the nineteenth-century turned rungs with distaste. They look sound enough, Faith told herself, a mite dubiously.

Clarisse shimmied up the ladder with surprising ease. Faith followed her with less grace. Her knee was protesting. She paused at the top of the ladder, looking about. She’d never been up here before. Fred had always fetched anything needed from the loft.

The loft space was a shelf of floor above the rear of the church, inconspicuous from the ground. Faith looked out, admiring the bird’s-eye view of her church. Clarisse pulled a
cord and the yellowish light of a bare bulb revealed a space continuing much further back than she would have guessed. There wasn’t enough head room to stand up straight. Clarisse crawled ahead of her down the narrow space left between stacks of boxes.

“I am pretty sure the Spicer box isn’t very far back.” Her voice came back to Faith deadened by the overfilled space. “I remember helping Fred put it up here. By the way…” Her slim brown hand pointed to a tobacco-yellow canvas trunk under the eaves of a tilted board at the left-hand margin. “The principals’ pageant costumes are in there. We should get them out in the next day or so. Make sure they are OK.”

“So
what
exactly are we looking for?” Faith asked.

“There were thirty or more pairs of dark plum satin bows for the pew ends, tied off with cream-coloured sprig arrangements. As I remember, it was quite effective. If we light lots of candles, it’ll look fine, you’ll see – and, best of all, we can put them up and take them down in half an hour.”

The front half of Clarisse was absorbed in shadows. Faith thought that even at this angle she looked as if she could be posing for a magazine cover.

“How’s Pat doing?” Clari’s question came to her out of the dark.

“Well, I suppose, as a vicar you learn to cope with the business of having to work ahead of where you are spiritually at this time of year,” Faith answered, thoughtfully. “But it is more difficult for laity, especially careful, faithful ones like Pat.” Clari craned her head around to stare at her.

“What? I meant about her nephew. Wasn’t he supposed to be coming to see her this morning?”

“What nephew? I didn’t know Pat had a nephew.” Faith was startled and then appalled. Not something else she had
missed! Perhaps she hadn’t been spending enough time on her parish.
That’s what happens when you go nosing into police investigations that don’t concern you any more…

“Her estranged sister’s boy,” Clari was saying. “There is some family split. Fred’s the one who knows the details. Pat’s sister did something unmentionable and they stopped talking to each other years ago. The boy grew up without knowing anything about Pat. Then, just recently, he sent her a letter. I think he was tracing his family tree or some-such. Said he wanted to meet her. Pat was excited about it.”

How shaming. For all her occasional quirks and annoying habits, Pat was a stalwart of the parish. As her vicar and pastor, how could Faith have missed something so important?

“You didn’t know?” Clari’s voice was kind. “Don’t worry. Pat isn’t a particularly confiding person. I just happened to hear her and Fred talking when we were clearing up together after pageant rehearsals.”

At least Clari was there at the pageant rehearsals to hear, Faith chastised herself.

“And this nephew, he was supposed to come today?”

Clari nodded. “It looks as if he has stood her up.”

“Poor Pat!” Faith suddenly saw the connection. In her way, Pat was as alone as Adam Bagshaw.

“Mmm.” Clari sounded distracted. “Sue and I need to catch up with you over the pageant. Do you think Oliver Markham is going to be able to play Joseph with this awful murder investigation?”

Faith deflated with relief. “I am so glad you’ve thought of that too,” she said. “I have been worrying and worrying about it. What should we do? I’ve tried ringing Oliver at home, but there’s no answer.”

Clari leaned further into the darkness, stretching out one slim leg for balance. Her voice was muffled. “It must be a dreadful time for them. It will hardly be a surprise if Oliver needs to drop out. But who can we get?”

Faith reviewed the possibles one more time. “Well, we need all the Wise Men. And Fred will be too busy marshalling everybody…”

“Besides, he hates making a spectacle of himself – as he puts it…”

“I did wonder about asking Peter Gray, but – being on the investigating team… well… murder enquiries are pretty intense. He most likely will say he doesn’t have the time, and if he does agree, he’ll probably get called away at the crucial moment and we will be Joseph-less anyway. You don’t suppose Alice Peabody’s soldier boyfriend might consider it? She is Mary and he’s back on leave, I hear.”

“Got it!” declared Clarisse, triumphantly. She edged backwards toward Faith, dragging a cardboard box. With a grimace of effort, she heaved it over between them, pulling back a flap. Faith glimpsed satin in a rich plum colour.

The box was unwieldy and dusty. Faith backed down the ladder, holding on with one hand, using the other to balance the cardboard box on her head. It was heavier than she’d first thought and her knee hurt. She wobbled uncertainly.

“Be careful!” Clarisse called anxiously from above.

Concentrating on holding her balance, Faith only dimly heard Fred shouting from across the church telling her to wait and let him do it. At last her lower foot struck reassuring tile and she turned, she hoped gracefully, to greet him with a triumphant, “Ta-da!”

Jim Postlethwaite was standing in front of her looking quizzical. He didn’t take his eyes from her face. She thought
she must be covered in dust. Jim lifted the weight of the box from her head with ease.

“Impressive,” he said.

Sue, Clarisse and Fred spirited the box of decorations off to the other end of the church, corralling Pat as they went. Faith shifted her gaze from their studiously turned backs. Casual in denim jeans and black peacoat, Jim Postlethwaite looked more like a dock worker than a choirmaster – a rather attractive dock worker. She pushed the unprofessional thought aside.

“Had a spare couple of hours and thought I’d drop by to see the church – I did leave a message…” He looked over at the group shaking creases out of the Spicer wedding decorations. “You’ve got something on tonight?”

“A civic carol service. It doesn’t start until 6:30 p.m. Glad you could come by. Let me give you the tour. I was hoping the choir might be able to sing from the gallery.” She led him away from the others, round to the curved wooden steps leading up to the gallery above the main door. She started up ahead of him. The treads were narrow and steep. Faith suddenly became conscious that her jeans fitted her rather snugly. She tugged her jumper down at the back. “It’s a bit cramped,” she said hurriedly, “but the effect will be dramatic, especially for the Midnight Mass.” She glanced
back over her shoulder. Jim lifted his eyes up to hers and grinned. She reached the gallery and stood back against the wall feeling flustered.

“The idea is to start with a solo voice singing the first verse of ‘Once in Royal David’s City…’” he said.

The gallery ran along the front wall of the old church. It only had room for two rows of chairs. When it was built in the early 1800s, the church band had played from here. Jim stood at the rail and looked out at her church.

“I know just the girl.” He turned back to her. “Nice,” he said.

“Our organist is very good.” She was speaking too fast. She took a breath and deliberately slowed herself down. “Paul is studying music at the Royal College – an organ scholar. He plays for us when he comes home for Christmas. We’re very lucky.” She turned back to descend the steps. “The vestry is going to be a bit compact, given fifteen in the choir, I think you said?”
Detail. Concentrate on detail.

He wasn’t following her. He had taken the second seat in on the front row.

“I’m sure the vestry will be fine. Can’t we sit? The view from up here gives me a good idea of the layout. Besides, your people look busy down there.”

She sat down in the end chair, keeping her legs swung away toward the exit. It really was rather cramped up here.

“Numbers will be a bit down, what with Lucas and all that…” he was saying.

“Of course.” She examined his face, full of concern. “Can they manage this? I will quite understand if you need to withdraw.”

“No. It’ll be fine,” he said. “It is better we carry on – better for the kids.”

“If you’re sure…” His eyes were locked on hers. She noticed something shift, as if he was pulling her in, keeping her in place, looking at him. “You and the investigating officer – it seems like you know each other pretty well?”

A rather direct question
, she thought. How to answer? She fancied he was judging her thoughts with every nanosecond that passed. She put a smile on her face and pretended to watch Sue and Clari fixing the decorations on the pew ends below.

“We both grew up around here. I used to know Ben Shorter pretty well some time ago, but we lost touch. I met him again when I moved back here, earlier this year.”

There was nothing precisely untrue in that – though it hardly qualified as the truth.

“So you’re friends?”

“Mmm.” She made the noise as non-committal as possible. This was getting much too personal. What should she say?
We used to work together in another life when I thought we would be together forever, but I was wrong. No. Evasive is better.

Jim was no longer looking at her. He sank his chin on his folded arms, gazing out over the rail.

“Do you know how the investigation is going into Lucas’s…?” He trailed off, leaving the question hanging: death or murder? She glanced at him surreptitiously. Was he pumping her for information? Or maybe he was offering some?

“Not really,” she replied, cautiously. “As far as I know, the investigation has only just got started. You knew Lucas. What do you think about it all?”

“It’s shocking,” he said simply. “You don’t expect to come up against a murder, not in ordinary life.” She wished she could say the same; but her life hadn’t turned out that way.

“How are the choir coping?” she asked.

“It’s been a bit hairy. Lucas’s death has caused ructions – especially for V.”

“V?” queried Faith.

“Lucas and he hung out together. Unlikely mates, in a way – but they were tight, even with the Dot in the middle.” Faith wrinkled her nose.

“The Dot…?” She couldn’t help smiling. Jim’s face reflected her amusement, wryly.

“I know. The names they give themselves. The Dot is V’s girl – at least, I
think
she is. It’s hard to tell; one of those teenage group relationships. I get the sense V only joined the choir for her – though his voice isn’t bad. The oddball trio.”

Faith thought of the girl with the curls and the boy in the woolly hat at the cathedral; the short girl with the golden hair the PC had called Ben over to talk to – was that the Dot, maybe?

“So what happened?”

“Some nastiness – one of the lads in the choir – made a bad joke about V killing Lucas, over the Dot; typical teenage insensitivity. V took it to heart and socked him. Had to separate them. The verger was in a tizzy – fisticuffs in the chancel. The youth choir isn’t very popular. We’ll be lucky to see the week out.”

“Not really?”

Jim shrugged. For the first time, she noticed the drawn look about his eyes. “Maybe. I guess; so long as it doesn’t happen again… It was probably more cathartic than anything. A release of tension. They don’t really have the emotional equipment to deal with death at that age. Especially when it comes so close – to one of their own, you know.”

Down below, the Spicer wedding decorations were already up on half the pew ends. Fred and Pat, Sue and Clari
were moving in pairs down two blocks of pews at a time. They worked well together.

“Do you do all this by yourself?” His question surprised her. “Well, there’s just me at the vicarage – but the congregation are very involved. We have a marvellous PCC, as you can see.” She waved a hand at the team down below. Sue caught sight of her and waved back. She really ought to be down there helping, but she found herself curious about the man beside her. Well, if he was going to be personal…

“What about you? Do you have family?”

“Was married, once. My wife came from Edinburgh. She’s gone back home.”

Gone back home.
Ambiguous. Divorced, maybe? She tried to ignore the pang of disappointment. Of course he was going to have relationships. He was in his thirties.

“Any children?” she asked. He was looking right at her and she saw something freeze. Only for a split second. He looked away.

“One. She lives with her mother. She’s nearly ten now.” His body language said clearly that the subject was closed. Faith watched Sue and the others, trying to think of something to say to dispel the tension. They were clustered together as if preparing to go off for a tea break. Perhaps she should take Jim down to join them. She caught the tail end of a look as his eyes flicked back to the church. He shrugged.

“Sorry – it’s not something I talk about.”

“Forgive me. I didn’t mean to pry.”

“It’s…” he hesitated, looking off into middle distance. Faith chimed in softly, their voices blending, “… complicated.” His lips quirked up. “And lonely, sometimes,” he said, eerily echoing her thoughts.

This was too intimate ground. She should suggest tea. He tilted his head on his arms, crinkling his eyes at her.

“You’re easy to talk to, you know that?”

The compliment warmed her. “It comes with the territory,” she said, absently gesturing to her neck before realizing the dog collar wasn’t there.

They were alone in the church. The others had disappeared, leaving the purple ribbons with their frothy cream accoutrements dressing the pews. Her church looked good. This could work.

“There’s something about the space in these old churches.” He spoke quietly. “Don’t know why, but somewhere deep down in your psyche – it moves you. Doesn’t it?” She watched his profile. At that moment she sensed no defences between them, just honest communication. “Do you…” He hesitated. He watched her with narrowed eyes, glinting through his lashes. “Do you ever doubt? Do you always just trust this?”

She tilted her head, considering. It felt important that she give him an honest answer.

“Well, life is complex and challenging. There’s no denying that. But I think, in the end, I put my trust in love – and God.” He stared back at her, his eyes willing her to go on. She attempted to elaborate. “Look at all your work with these kids. They’ve no connection to you; no rational call on your time. Yet you go out and you find them and you get them to sing with real joy – isn’t that a material form of love?”

He laughed abruptly as if she’d startled him. “Thank you for that,” he said after a moment. “You seem to think the best of people.”

“I’m not naive, you know,” she protested. He looked down his nose at her, unconvinced, the way Ben would do.

“I like that about you. But…” He looked away, articulating
his words as if this was something he really wanted her to understand. “I am a sinner; I am no saint.”

“So are we all,” she answered.

“Hi – Faith!” Sue called up to her from the vestry door. “What do you think?” She waved her hand at the transformed church. “Fab or what?”

“Definitely fab!” Faith called back.

“We’re off to have something to eat – see you at six?” Sue waved backwards over her shoulder and was gone.

“I should go too.” Jim unfolded himself from the chair. Faith stood up to give him room. They moved to the stairs inches apart.

“You doing anything tomorrow night?” His voice came from behind her as he followed her through the dusk of the narrow stairs. “I’ve got the evening off.”

They’d reached the brighter light of the ground floor. He responded to the doubt in her face. “You’ve seen the kitchen in those lodgings they’ve got me in. I have to eat out.” He tilted his head, looking down at her with a tentative smile. “It would be good to have company for a change.”

He is a newcomer here, in a strange place at Christmas
, she argued with her better self.
You saw those barely furnished lodgings he’s in. That mini microwave would hardly heat a cup-a-soup. He is a guest of the church; what’s the harm
?

Her lips were parting to answer him when she remembered supper with Peter and Sandy; that was tomorrow night.

But then, Sandy had said she was welcome to bring a guest. Why not? Why shouldn’t she bring a church colleague to a friendly supper at the home of members of her own congregation?

“As it happens,” she heard herself saying, “I am supposed to be having supper with friends – but perhaps you can come
with me? Peter Gray and his wife – they’ll be here at Midnight Mass…”

“They won’t mind?”

“They told me to bring someone – come and meet some more people.” There. That was just friendly – meet more of the congregation. Not a date at all.

“Cool,” he said.

Jim rode a motorbike. He drove off, looking as if he was meant to be on it. She suppressed the urge to grin like an idiot after him. They were two professional colleagues and she had work to do. St James’s was ready for tonight’s invasion; the orders of service were laid out on the pews. She had nearly an hour before she had to be back in the church – time to put her feet up a moment, to turn herself around, grab something to eat and think about what had just happened.

As she locked the vestry door behind her, her mobile rang. Ruth! Oh dear, she had forgotten her sister
again
. She pressed the button without looking at the caller display, her mouth preparing apologies.

“Heard you’ve been to see Adam Bagshaw…” It was Ben. Disorientated, she struggled to adjust to the thought.

“Have you?” she responded, blankly.

“You left him your card.” Amusement coloured the words. Faith grimaced, remembering.

“A pastoral visit,” she said, a tad defensively. What did Ben want? And why just now, the instant after Jim Postlethwaite’s unexpected visit?

“Got time for a coffee? Maybe we could swap notes.”

Why did he do this? Ben was the one person with the ability to spring things on her, catching her off guard time and again. She scrabbled for her wits.

“Well…” She checked her watch. Now she had fifty-four minutes before she had to be back in the vestry. “There’s a carol service at the church tonight. I only have half an hour or so.”

“You’ve got coffee, haven’t you?”

Yes. She did. For some reason she still kept a stock of that strong filter coffee Ben drank, even though she didn’t like it herself.

“It will take you twenty minutes to get here from Winchester, and like I said, I’ve only got half an hour,” she objected.

“Good thing I’m parked in your drive, then,” he said, and rang off.

Ben was parked in the vicarage drive? Did that mean he’d seen Jim’s motorbike leave?

Her heart rate had gone up, Faith noticed crossly. If Ben had driven up on the vicarage side, there was no reason for him to be aware of Jim departing from the church gate. And, besides, so what if he knew? It was perfectly legitimate that the choirmaster should come and check the layout of the church where his choir was due to sing. This was ridiculous! It was her vicarage, her church, her life. She stomped toward home feeling militant.

Ben was waiting in his long black coat by the kitchen door, his hands buried in his pockets. He tilted his head at her in acknowledgment.

“It’s still cold.”

“Isn’t it,” she snapped back. She unlocked the kitchen door and he followed her, looking irritatingly entertained.

“Coffee?”

“Thanks.”

Ben was in her home. She turned her back on him, grateful to have something to busy herself with. He had
sprung this visit on her without a by-your-leave. He could start the conversation. She opened cupboards and assembled the coffee machine. She was making herself a mug of tea when he finally spoke.