Up from the Grave Page 3

  “Graystone’s quite smitten with his granddaughter, I should think, and rightly so.” Young Dave Exton, the newspaper editor Berdie saw earlier on the High Street, stood near her. “Though it is hard to believe the old iceberg has a warm spot in that arctic heart of his.”

  “Everyone has a warm spot in their heart,” Berdie replied. “It just sometimes takes a bit of defrosting to find it.”

  “Including that one?” The editor pushed his trendy glasses against the bridge of his nose and thrust his chin towards the village constable, Albert Goodnight.

  Oh that one! Berdie didn’t voice the thought. “Yes, well, with a good blasting furnace at hand, indeed he does.”

  Berdie wasn’t sure if it was so much a matter of finding the amiability of Albert Goodnight’s heart or just the need to see him demonstrate some genuine competence in his line of work.

  The editor drew near the large constable who hung at the edge of the crowd. Goodnight’s rotund stature made youthful Dave Exton look absolutely willowy. The constable’s uniform showed large gaps between the buttons, and his sleeves were just short of his wrists.

  Albert could probably sweep the village roads with that large unkempt mustache.

  Nonetheless, Albert Goodnight was the law in Aidan Kirkwood, as Hugh had pointed out to her on more than one occasion.

  Berdie continued her meeting and greeting exercises until the parish council lined up and took their seats without great fanfare. Hugh and Mr. Webb sat first. Mr. Webb was next to the enigmatic empty chair. Lillie, in her choirmaster robe, led the way for the women’s chorus who came to rest behind the flower spray.

  Hugh arose wearing his pastoral duties like a royal scepter. “Good afternoon. As your parish priest, I welcome all, parishioners and visitors alike, to this festive sod turning for the new water feature of Saint Aidan of the Wood Parish Church. Following the turn of the spade, we will pronounce a blessing.”

  The crowd clapped vigorously.

  “I will now turn the ceremony over to Mr. Grayson Webb, our parish council chairman.”

  The applause was not quite as vigorous.

  Mr. Webb’s expensive clothes, slightly over-the-top for the event, fit him well and enhanced his fashionable hairstyle and tanned features. With his usual flair, undaunted by the lukewarm response, Mr. Webb launched into his oration. “Today we celebrate the expansion of our church grounds, a great opportunity to ‘enlarge our tent’ as the Good Book says. To begin our joyful gathering, I now ask our wonderful women’s chorus to raise their voice in song.”

  With that, Lillie lifted her slender hands to direct and at the first down beat, the women’s voices broke into sweet harmony.

  Berdie wondered if the disgruntled coach tour man she spoke to earlier at the tea did indeed stay for the fête. And then she wondered if he might present a fuss if he was here. She hadn’t seen him, but while the choristers sang the second and third verses of All Creatures of Our God and King, she unobtrusively surveyed the crowd from her second row chair on the edge of the seating. Berdie recognized most of the coach tour visitors and then she spied him, the distressed gentleman.

  He stood in the very back of the audience along with a few others who seemed to simply be skulking about, taking in the fanfare. However, the man’s former anger had apparently eased. He was motionless, his eyes fixed intently on the women’s chorus. No. Rather he was transfixed. True, the women were singing with great expression, but the hymn was one sung prolifically in churches and concert halls all across England.

  Let all things their Creator bless, And worship Him in humbleness, O praise Him, Alleluia!

  Berdie saw a hint of moisture in the fellow’s mellowed eye.

  Praise, praise the Father, praise the Son, And praise the Spirit, Three in One!

  The cool grey man appeared to take on the color of spring. Something was stirred deeply within him. A nature lover indeed, Berdie thought. Or perhaps this song had a special memory in his life. And it appeared his resolute displeasure that the church was turning earth to create a pond had quite melted.

  “Good,” Berdie whispered.

  Then she spotted something unusual. A black limousine halted in the road by the front church garden; and there emerged a silhouette, much like a film star, wearing sunglasses. Her soft tan skin looked fresh against the pink linen tailored dress and pomegranate-colored shrug she wore. Her very first step, though unnoticed by the crowd, announced her arrival eloquently. She swept silently along the side of the engaged spectators. Mr. Webb, with broad smile, tipped his head towards the empty chair upon seeing the woman. With demure movement, she made her way to the seat creating a great stir amongst the onlookers, which put Lillie, who gazed at the surprising figure, off her form thus ending the musical presentation in an understated manner.

  “Who is she?” Berdie whispered to the One Who always hears.

  Almost immediately, Mr. Webb and the men seated up front were on their feet. A quick nod from the woman gave the gentlemen permission to resume their seats.

  The creature’s upswept hair, though dark, gleamed in the sun creating the sense of a natural tiara. After a quick greeting between Mr. Webb and the woman—a kiss on both cheeks, “Ah, European,” Berdie quietly noted.

  Without delay, Mr. Webb gripped the large nearby spade and stepped to the microphone with great pomp. “Thank you, chorus,” he acknowledged without even looking in their direction. “Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you a very special and generous friend to Aidan Kirkwood. Countess Carlotta Santolio, who, amidst her demanding schedule, will assist in turning the first spade of soil to our new garden scheme.”

  Berdie heard a loud tone above the murmur of those gathered. Perhaps it was those who said goodbye to their money in the betting pool.

  “What has a nobbily countess we’ve never heard of have to do with our church garden?” Wilkie Gordon gave voice to the question everyone probably wanted to ask.

  Berdie turned to see Mr. Gordon rise from his seat. Stretched to his full five feet and seven inches, Mr. Gordon’s bald head took on a pink cast while his face appeared as pomegranate red as the contessa’s shrug. The bushy white beard that edged his visage outlined the crimson. He raised a clenched fist.

  “Missus, you are about to do a great evil. If you must splash out, give your alms to the poor, unnoted and in quiet. Go and take your money with you. Leave our church garden be.”

  Berdie felt red heat all across her cheeks. Oh no, Wilkie Gordon! I forgot to ask Hugh to speak with him. Berdie closed her eyes as if to shut out her empty promise to Cherry, and reopened them quickly. “Oh my,” was all she could muster at the moment.

  A flurry of head turning accompanied by a collective inhale of the afternoon air was followed by undistinguishable verbal patter, which hopped around the audience like a young rabbit.

  “And furthermore,” was all Wilkie managed to get out when another booming voice interrupted.

  “Wilkie Gordon, do sit down.” The tall and commanding Colonel Preswood was on his feet, shoulders squared and jaw tight, spitting the words in the old dissenter’s direction. “For heaven’s sake, man, get a grip.” Though his suit was nicely tailored and pressed, his broad features were sour as he addressed the crowd. “Our guest can do whatever she chooses with her money. Now let’s get on with what we’re here for.”

  In haste Mr. Webb half-whispered words of reassurance to the countess. “Don’t pay any mind to them.” He pushed the spade handle into her palm, pointing to the ground. “Now!” commanded the harassed council president.

  Berdie watched Hugh who had also risen to his feet. She knew he’d put things in place and restore the calm. But before he could speak, the contessa pushed the polished tool up to the hilt into the soil. Despite her spike-heeled shoes, and with some labor, she turned its contents over. The woman’s face went pale. A voluble shriek escaped from the pink shimmering lips of Contessa Santolio.

  All heads, as if observing a tennis match, moved from the Wilkie G
ordon-Colonel Preswood drama to the elegant woman who threw down the large spade with such force it almost made a direct plant on Mr. Webb’s Italian leather shoe.

  The head of council peered into the newly made hole. His face became morose.

  Berdie watched Hugh place himself delicately to take a peek at what was causing such a reaction. Indeed, half the audience was now straining forward as if to catch a glimpse. The very proper Mrs. Plinkerton, a respected member of the parish council seated closest to the cavity, peered into the soil.

  “Bones,” she screeched. Her aging face whitened, and she fell back against her chair, sending her large pink hat on a tumble.

  “Bones?” Berdie said aloud.

  The council members next to Mrs. Plinkerton grabbed the hat and worked furiously to fan her.

  Hugh raised his hands calmly. “Let’s keep our sensibilities. First, Edsel, would you please get Mrs. Plinkerton a glass of water?”

  Edsel Butz made way to the church.

  Hugh’s voice was clear and strong. “All our lands are open grazing. It’s very likely nothing more than the remains of a sheep.”

  “You’ve desecrated a grave,” someone yelled in the crowd.

  “Let’s not rush to judgment,” Hugh cautioned.

  Berdie sensed someone bending towards her.

  “What’s going on?” Dr. Loren Meredith’s voice could melt butter. “I just arrived. Looks a bit of a mad house.”

  With Lillie’s love interest, the pathologist Dr. Loren Meredith, being so near, Berdie became aware of his unique scent. It was a combination of fresh scrubbed soap and a touch of mountain air. What a shame, she thought, that the rest of the afternoon wasn’t as pleasant as Dr. Meredith’s presence.

  “I’m afraid the whole affair has gone a bit pear shaped,” Berdie responded. And not just before Constable Goodnight poked his considerable finger into the doctor’s shoulder.

  “Need your services if you please,” he grumbled through his mustache. “Come along.”

  The handsome physician followed Goodnight to the gouged earth.

  The constable bellowed forth making his rotund shape heave. “Everyone sit down, or I’ll arrest the lot of ya.”

  The boom sent baby Katy Donovan into a great crying frenzy, which soon became a chorus when Dotty Butz and several other infants joined in. Few paid attention to Goodnight’s command.

  Dr. Meredith bent close to the earth and pushed aside additional dirt revealing more remains.

  Berdie’s curiosity got the better of her, and deftly she stepped to the sight the doctor examined.

  “Human, a little one,” the pathologist said discreetly and stood.

  “Well I never,” Berdie exhaled, “of all times and places.”

  “Quite,” the animated voice of Mr. Webb sounded. “Surely, there’s been some mistake.”

  Goodnight, standing next to Berdie, grunted, took a deep breath, and trumpeted across the crowd, “I’m declaring this a crime scene. You lot go home now.”

  “Albert, is this really necessary?” Mr. Webb’s disgust was in sharp contrast to his smart dress.

  “Do pigs grunt?”

  “Reverend Elliott, Wilkie Gordon’s collapsed,” a voice cried out.

  Berdie caught her breath as Hugh, quite fit for a man his age, nearly hurdled the chairs to get to Mr. Gordon. A small group had gathered round.

  “I appreciate your concern, but please stand back, give him room to breathe,” Hugh ordered.

  Edsel came next to Hugh and moved people along as Hugh attended to the old gentleman.

  “I said go home!” Goodnight bellowed like an evening foghorn.

  Whipped by the swirl of events and Goodnight’s volume, a mad migration of people took flight for the front road. Chairs tipped and children were swept up. Mr. Webb hurriedly escorted the contessa back to her limousine, and Dave Exton, who seemed to relish the action, went snap happy with his camera.

  Dr. Meredith turned his attention to Hugh and Mr. Gordon. He took a step.

  “Stay right here, Doctor. Vicar’s doin’ a fine job,” Goodnight growled.

  “Are you mad, Goodnight?” Dr. Meredith frowned and moved quickly to Wilkie’s side.

  Berdie took in the policeman. “Shouldn’t you be doing something to help Mr. Gordon, Constable Goodnight?”

  “More important I keep an eye on this.” The law officer stabbed his thumb in the direction of the skeleton. “I shall be calling the Yard in on this.”

  Berdie could see that her husband and the doctor were taking care of the old fellow. Nonetheless, she felt constrained to be close to Mr. Gordon. After all, would his outburst have been prevented if she had gotten Hugh to speak with him?

  When Berdie got to him, the bit red Wilkie was sitting up and breathing regularly as Loren checked his pulse. Ivy was at her uncle’s side.

  “I’m fine. Leave me be,” the man said weakly.

  “Mr. Gordon, I believe you and I are going to make our way to Dr. Honeywell’s office,” Hugh decreed.

  “As a physician, I must say it really is the thing to do immediately.” Loren examined Wilkie’s eyes. “Yes, should do.”

  The home of the village doctor, George Honeywell, wasn’t far.

  Wilkie Gordon blinked and squeezed his lips.

  “Please, Uncle.” Ivy’s voice was kind but firm.

  “What about my Mary? She’s by herself.”

  “I’ll see to Aunt Mary. Now off you go.” Ivy shooed them away with a wave of her hands.

  Hugh and Dr. Meredith helped the man to his feet.

  Berdie put her hand on his shoulder. “Your Mary would want you to see Dr. Honeywell.”

  Wilkie gave a tiny nod. “But don’t let on what happened here.” He turned to Ivy. “None of it. Just tell her I’m momentarily with the Reverend. Promise me.”

  Ivy was somewhat befuddled. “But…”

  “Promise me.” His raised voice sent his face scarlet again.

  “Yes, yes, Uncle Wilkie, I promise.” Ivy placed her hand on her uncle’s back. “Please calm yourself.”

  “I’ll get the car then.” Hugh was off to the vicarage drive almost as quickly as he had hurdled chairs.

  Berdie stood at Wilkie’s side, and Loren steadied the fellow. Ivy was to the off, heading in the direction of the Gordon’s home.

  “Please,” the oldster had a tone of desperation, “don’t tell Mary. She’s so ill, she needn’t have more concern.”

  “Not to worry,” Berdie assured him. She was already keenly aware that his wife had been undergoing special medical treatments in Timsley.

  Hugh brought the car round. He and Loren settled Wilkie in the vehicle.

  “Do you need me to come with you?” Berdie whispered circumspectly to Hugh.

  “Thank you, love, but I need you to see to matters here.” Hugh glanced quickly at the constable.

  “Oh I’d love to give that ‘matter’ a right ear full, frightening the children and causing havoc.”

  “Berdie,” Hugh cautioned as he arched his left eyebrow, “mind how you go.”

  “I’ll try to be as civil as possible,” she promised her husband and watched the auto trundle down the road.

  Taking deliberate steps with Dr. Meredith toward the upturned earth, Berdie took in the full scene of the mad scramble: the disturbed earth, the guardian constable, and Wilkie’s toppled chair.

  “It’s quite mad,” she declared then stopped to question the pathologist. “Does Goodnight have just cause to call this a crime scene? People have been buried in church yards for hundreds of years.”

  Dr. Meredith tipped his head. “We need to examine it a bit more, but those are not ancient bones. Human remains in a shallow grave with no apparent vestige of burial, yes, we need some investigating.” Loren put his broad shoulders at attention. “I dare say Albert Goodnight has not handled the situation appropriately, but that doesn’t discredit the law entirely.”

  Berdie smiled. “Well said.”

  Lillie app
roached, appearing quite shaken. “Had a film writer created this whole event I wouldn’t have believed it.” With a bewildered look in her eye, she gave her hand to the doctor who caressed it gently. He pulled her near and placed a kiss on her cheek.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “Far better than Mr. Gordon, I dare say.”

  “Hugh’s taken him to Honeywell’s,” Loren assured.

  “How are you fairing?” Lillie, Berdie knew, could read her uneasiness.

  She looked at the ground. “Frankly, I feel a bit responsible for Wilkie.”

  “You?” Lillie questioned with a wrinkled brow.

  “I made a promise to a parishioner concerning him, and I didn’t follow through. Perhaps he would be home with his Mary now instead of being dashed off to the doctor had I done my part.”

  “Stuff and nonsense.” Loren’s voice was soothing. “You can’t be responsible for another person’s behavior, promise or not.”

  Lillie nodded, her eyes expressing the kindness best friends share.

  “As you say.” Berdie understood the doctor’s point. Still, she’d let Cherry down. Perhaps a few words from Hugh could have settled Wilkie a bit. But that now was a moot point.

  “Moving on then.” Lillie looked expectantly at her love interest. “What did you think of our musical performance?”

  When he didn’t respond her smile left with the silence.

  “Ah, I see. Some desperate corpse needed a rush liver dissection I shouldn’t wonder?” Lillie had a splash of cold rain in her voice.

  “Something like that.” Loren took her other hand and focused his full attention on his beautiful woman. “This has all been a bit of an ordeal. Lillie, why don’t you go home and take a moment. I’ll be there in a tic to take you out for dinner.” The doctor’s smoldering brown eyes searched Lillie’s face.

  “Right,” she responded and looked sheepishly at Berdie. Then she directed her eyes to Loren, one hand on her hip. “Hopefully, no needy corpse will interrupt this time. Perhaps we’ll actually complete our meal?” She was curt.

  “Shortly then.”

  Lillie released the doctor’s hands and made for the road.

  “It’s not just today’s upset that’s troubling her, is it?” Loren observed out loud.