The Priest at Puddle's End (A Lady Marmalade Mystery Book 10) Page 12
She was looking from Fannon to Slaughter and back again. Fannon thought for a moment and then shook his head.
“No, I’m afraid not. I can’t think of anyone. Matilda seemed happy when she left at four thirty on Friday. She popped her head in to say goodbye. She never mentioned anything about receiving any worrying telephone calls. Or if she did, she didn’t say anything to me.”
“And how about you?” asked Frances, looking at Slaughter.
“No mum. She didn’t say anything to me. Didn’t say goodbye neither, but then that was like her, wasn’t it? She didn’t care much for me.”
Slaughter started sobbing again. Frances watched for a while, thinking.
“Who else had access to the church and specifically the kitchen over the weekend?” she asked.
Fannon looked at her.
“Let me see. On Saturday evening we have a men’s study group that meets in the basement. I lead all of these now ever since Deacon Millar, uh, left. Sunday morning is Sunday School which Matilda sometimes helps with. This Sunday I did it myself. And then on Sunday afternoon, after mass we have women’s bible study. That’s the most popular one. During those times the church is left open and the kitchen is available for refreshments as they wish.”
“So your parishioners can come and go as they please to the kitchen during their studies?”
“Yes, that’s quite correct.”
“Anyone attend this past weekend who seemed suspicious, up to no good?”
“Well, Peter attended on Saturday night. He didn’t seem happy to be here. I asked him what it was about? Said it was none of my business, it was between him and his God.”
“I see,” said Frances.
“Anyone else?”
Fannon upturned his mouth and shook his head.
“No, everyone else seemed quite happy to be here. Though I was pleased to see a couple of faces that hadn’t attended in some time.”
“And who was that?”
“Well, in the men’s group Colin Lewis showed up. Seemed fairly happy to be there for the night. And then on Sunday afternoon in the women’s group I saw Harmonie Teel. Hadn’t seen her in years. Was a lovely surprise. She’s a lovely girl.”
“And both her and Colin seemed genuinely happy to be there?”
“Oh yes. Quite. Harmonie said she wanted to come and renew her faith. Colin said he’d come to try and make things right with his father. Pray for him.”
Frances nodded.
“If you don’t mind,” said Fannon, “I should go and check the donation boxes.”
“I’ll come with you if you don’t mind,” said Frances.
Fannon got up and nodded at her. He led her out of the room, down the hall and out the door at the end that opened up into the side of the congregation hall. They walked through the pews towards the bye-altar where no candles were lit.
Fannon opened up the box and took the money out. Then he closed and locked the lid again.
“Hard to tell that this one is a replacement,” said Frances. “Or should I rather say, it’s hard to tell that the box in the foyer is older than this one.”
“Yes, well, they wear very well. They’re hardly touched except for when I empty them once a week and then I do so carefully. Waste not want not. Once a decade they might get taken down and revarnished by Peter. And I think once in my time here, that box in the foyer has had the buckle replaced as it was getting loose.”
Frances looked at it. The buckle clasp was flimsy and hardly a deterrent.
“As you said,” she said, “one could easily yank the lid off.”
“Or even yank the whole thing off the stand. It’s only nailed in through a small piece of wood on the back.”
In front of them, before the bye-altar was a railing and the box was attached to this railing by nails through a second piece of wood. Other than that it stood on the table as if it were there for the taking.
Fannon grabbed Frances’ forearm gently. She looked at him and he had an earnest look in his eyes.
“Do you think someone is trying to murder all of us who work for God’s church?” he asked.
“Why would you ask that?”
“Well, the Deacon was murdered, now my secretary Matilda. It seems more than coincidental.”
“I don’t believe it is. But you know, Kane, I’ve been hearing a lot of questionable things about this church. Some have even suggested that the devil is at work in this house of God. If there was ever a time to come forward. Now would be the time.”
Frances looked at him steadily. Fannon let go of her forearm and looked down at the floor. After a while he shook his head, then he looked up at her.
“I’m afraid I can’t think of anything at all.”
Frances stared at him for a while before finally nodding her head.
“Very well. If you change your mind. Let me know. I can only help those who are willing to help themselves.”
Florence looked around. There was nobody in the church. A constable was probably stationed outside not letting anybody in. She imagined that mass might be cancelled for most of the day if not the rest of the day.
“I think I’ve seen enough, Kane,” said Frances. “I’d like to take one last look at the crime scene.”
Kane nodded.
“Right this way,” he said.
He walked them straight through the pew and to a door that was unlocked that led to the hallway by which you could access both Father Fannon’s office and the reception area. They reversed the route they had taken to get to the bye-altar.
“And you say this door is locked when Matilda leaves?”
“That’s right, we only have it open during regular hours, as the bathroom is down the hall on those two doors on the left just before you get to my office.”
“I see.”
Fannon opened up the very first door on the left and entered into the reception area where not long before Matilda’s body had been.
“Thank you, Kane,” said Lady Marmalade. “Is Peter in?”
He nodded.
“Should be at the grounds out back, keeping busy I should imagine, if the police have finished with him.”
Father Fannon stood around like an upturned pebble.
“Do you need me for anything else?”
“No, thank you,” said Frances.
He looked at Sergeant Noble who was now in the reception area with his constable who had been interviewing Slaughter not long before. Noble nodded his head.
“Just one thing, Father Fannon,” he said, taking a small note from his constable and showing it to Fannon. “Do you recognize this handwriting?”
Fannon looked at the note and shook his head.
“It’s not Matilda’s nor Isabel’s. I’m afraid I don’t know whose it is.”
“Thank you, that’ll be all, Father.”
Fannon left the same way he came.
“May I?” asked Frances, holding her hand out for the note. Noble handed it to her. “Where was it found?”
“It was found on the table where the body was. Must’ve been covered up by her as she lay dead,” said Noble.
Frances looked at the note. It said: “You have seen the Devil at work and you cast a blind eye. You will be punished for your lack of courage.”
“I wonder what it means?” asked Florence.
“I imagine the killer left it, but when was it sent, and when was it received?” asked Frances.
“You don’t think she received it today?” asked Noble.
“Well, it’s possible,” said Frances, “but I fancy it’s been had for a week or more. It’s been folded across it’s length and opened up again, over and over. I think she’d been reading it for a time before today.”
“You don’t think it could have been mailed like that?” asked Noble.
“Unlikely, it’s not how most people mail letters off. They usually just fold it once across the length, and usually not folding a second time across the width. This would have easily fit inside an
envelope just folded across it’s length.”
“As a shot in the dark, you don’t happen to recognize it, do you? The handwriting that is?” asked Noble, looking at both Frances and Florence.
“I can’t say I do,” said Florence.
Frances shook her head.
“No, and yet there’s almost something familiar about it that I can’t quite put my finger on. I would certainly suggest that it was written by a woman’s hand.”
“I would presume the same,” said Noble.
“Have you had a chance to speak with Chief Inspector Pearce about this latest murder?” asked Frances.
Noble shook his head.
“I see no need.”
Frances nodded.
“Did you interview Peter Bolton?”
“My constable did. Didn’t get much out of him. He acknowledged being at the men’s study group on Saturday night.”
“Did you ask him who might’ve made it up to the kitchen?”
Noble looked at his constable. The constable shook his head shamefully.
“I’ll go and speak with him myself,” said Frances.
As she and Florence left, they could hear Sergeant Noble berating the constable about this lack of due diligence.
“This is a bloody murder investigation constable,” they heard him say.
“You think she was poisoned with tea?” asked Florence as they walked round back to the grounds of the church where they hoped to find Bolton.
“Not with tea, my dear Flo, but I believe something was put in that tea to poison her.”
“And what about that note?” asked Florence. “We keep hearing about the Devil at work in that house of worship.”
Frances nodded.
“That is the key, Flo. I am sure of it, that is the key. Though I worry we’ll find out in time.”
“Worried of what?”
“Of another murder. Father Fannon is visibly nervous, you saw him, and if members of the church administration are being targeted then there might be another murder yet.”
“Surely no one would murder a priest?” asked Florence, worried at the very words.
“Well, they murdered a Deacon, Flo. Nothing seems sacred anymore.”
“You think the same person who murdered the Deacon murdered Matilda?” asked Florence.
“Not likely, but it is a possibility. You see, Flo, men usually murder by violence. With women, it is usually more subtle, such as poison. Not all the time, but if there is a rule that usually is it.”
Frances saw Bolton towards the end of the hedges, between the rectory and the church grounds. He had big shears in his hand and he was trimming the hedge. He saw them coming towards him, and as they approached he stopped. He didn’t look happy. He nodded at them.
“Didn’t I tell ya the Devil’s at work in that house and now we’re paying for it?” he blurted out. “They’ll be coming for me next.”
“Why do you think that?” asked Frances.
“‘Cos I didn’t have courage, did I? There’s things I done that I’m not proud of and there’s things I haven’t done that I’m not proud of. I should’ve known this would happen, shouldn’t I?”
“If you’d just tell us, Peter, about what’s been going on in that church then we might be able to help.”
“You can’t help. What’s been done’s been done. Not stopping justice now. Mark my words.”
Frances didn’t say anything. She watched and waited. Peter shook his head. He was visibly upset.
“Dammit all to hell,” he said. “Colin was right.”
“Colin Lewis?”
He nodded his head.
“He come and told me, didn’t he? He come and told me I should’ve done something and I didn’t. That’s twice now he done told me. But I’m just a coward. What could I do?”
He wasn’t making much sense to Frances, but then she was certain there were things he was talking about that he was willingly keeping away from her.
“When did Colin speak to you, Peter?”
“On Saturday night, right? He came to the meeting. I heard him tell Father he was there to make things right between him and his dad, but that wasn’t why he was there. He was there to tell me again that I should’ve done something. I told him he should’ve done something, didn’t I? But he said he didn’t know much about it on account of him not attending church that much. He said it was my responsibility seeing as how I was working for the Devil himself. He said we were all in trouble now. He said we were all going to pay for it now, didn’t he?”
“When was the first time he told you this?”
“When we had our fight outside the pub, right? That’s when he told me I should’ve done something about it. And I told him he could’ve done something too. He admitted as much then. Didn’t this time though, did he?”
“What is going on in this church, Peter, that is causing so many problems?” asked Frances.
Peter shook his head and went back to shearing the hedge.
“I shouldn’t even be talking to you,” he said, stopping again and facing her. “But I’m trying to do good. I haven’t seen Isabel since you spoke to me on Friday. That’s good, isn’t it?”
Frances nodded.
“Is that why you were at the men’s meeting?”
Peter nodded.
“I’m a weak man,” he said. “I get temptation easily, don’t I? But I was seeking strength there. I really was, and I think it’s helping, but that Colin come and ruin everything, didn’t he?”
“Do you think Colin Lewis might have murdered Matilda Walmsley?” asked Frances.
Peter shrugged.
“I dunno, do I? I dunno nothing anymore. This place has been turned upside down, hasn’t it?”
“On Saturday night, Peter, can you tell me who exactly used the kitchen upstairs to get tea or a snack or anything like that at all?”
“Well, we all did, didn’t we?”
“You all did?” asked Frances, disappointed.
“Yes, you see how it works is like this. The first one in usually puts on a big pot of tea, right? Then those who got in first go up and make their mug just how they like it. They then put on a second pot and then the next lot go up and take their tea just how they like it and make a third pot if need be.”
Frances nodded. It didn’t help. It left too many suspects able to get at the tea.
“And everyone drank black tea? Nobody had mint tea?”
“Not that I saw, and I helped clean up at the end. Couldn’t smell mint at all, couldn’t see any mint leaves either.”
Frances nodded.
“Did Isabel attend women’s study on Sunday afternoon?”
Peter shrugged.
“I dunno, do I? I haven’t spoken with her since Friday morning before you come, right?”
Frances nodded.
“That’s good, Peter, that’s very good. You keep it up.”
He nodded and went back to his shearing of the hedge. Frances turned around and strolled up towards the back of the church.
“I need to ask Isabel a few more questions,” she said.
“About what?” asked Florence.
“A reading on tea leaves.”
They continued walking up towards the church. Frances couldn’t see inside but she had a feeling that Isabel was likely preparing snacks for the staff. Frances tried the French doors when they got there, but they were locked. She knocked on the window pane. Isabel came and pushed aside the sheer curtains, and seeing it was Frances unlocked the doors. She smiled bravely at them.
“I just have a few more questions for you if you don’t mind?” asked Frances.
“I’m just making scones,” she said. “Father likes them with his morning cuppa, not that we have any tea today.”
Frances thought she might burst into tears.
“We can run you down to the shops if you’d like when we’re done, and you can pick up some more tea.”
She nodded gratefully, offering a warmer smile.
&nb
sp; “The scones won’t be long. A few minutes, if that’s alright?”
Florence nodded.
“I had forgotten to ask you if you’d attended women’s study on Sunday afternoon,” said Frances.
Isabel nodded.
“Can you tell me who was there?”
“There wasn’t a big turn out. Not like we’ve had before. Let me see. There was Harmonie Teel, me, Adele Abbey, Diana Howe, Loreen Killam, Magnolia Ilbert, Nola Nelson and Shan Beake.”
“And did you all drink tea?” asked Frances.
Isabel looked off and up for a moment and put her finger to her mouth.
“Um, yes, wait, no. Shan Beake had mint tea because she said tea in the afternoon keeps her up at night. Everyone else had tea though.”
“And you all went up for it at the same time?”
“Good heavens no. I made the first pot and let the others have first dibs on it. Harmonie, Adele, Diana and Loreen got the first cups. They set up a second pot which Nola, me and Magnolia had. Shan took her mint tea with the others first.”
“I see,” said Frances, though it wasn’t getting any clearer. This wasn’t as helpful as she had hoped.
“Anyone else leave at any point during study?”
“Shan got up to use the washroom, and a little later Harmonie did.”
“How do you know they were using the washroom?”
“The pipes make a bit of a racket down in the basement, mum. I heard them both times.”
“And could you hear anyone up in the kitchen from where you were?”
“I don’t think so. You can hear them if you’re in the first room down there. That’s under the kitchen, but we were further back.”
A kitchen timer went off.
“The scones are ready,” said Isabel.
Frances and Florence watched her take them out of the oven using mitts and put them on cooling trays. There were a baker's dozen.
“They do smell very good,” said Florence.
“It’s all in using the freshest ingredients,” said Isabel. “My mum taught me that, and she wasn’t wrong. The butter and buttermilk come from the Lewis’s farm and the eggs are local too. I think that’s what does it.”
“Did Shan and Matilda have their differences?” asked Frances.
Isabel turned back to face them.