Consecrated Crime: A Rev Jessamy Ward Mystery (Isle Of Wesberrey Book 5) Read online

  Consecrated Crime

  Penelope Cress

  Copyright © 2021 Penelope Cress

  All rights reserved

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Cover design by: MariahSinclair.com

  To my fellow Coronitas

  One step closer to our castle dream x

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Free short Story

  Rude Awakening

  Norma Jean Baker

  All Aboard

  Bus Stop

  Eggy Soldiers

  Moving on

  Brief Encounter

  Chasing Shadows

  Tommy

  Mon Chéri

  Ladies and gentlemen

  Madeira, m’dear?

  And so to bed

  Porridge and kedgeree

  Happy days

  Where did the day go?

  You have one shot

  Unfortunate accidents

  Quid Pro Quo

  Green Ice cream

  Princess of pop

  School’s out

  Forever friends

  Hair today, gone tomorrow

  Teamwork

  What would Poirot do?

  Marry when June roses grow

  Acknowledgement

  About The Author

  Books By This Author

  Free short Story

  Subscribe to my monthly newsletter and receive a free copy of the prequel to this series Jubilee Jinks

  Rude Awakening

  “Aunt Cindy, why are you dragging me out at this ungodly hour?” I stumbled behind her, bleary of eye and short of temper. It was mere minutes past five in the morning.

  “Darling, you will see. Dave called me out, but I think this is something you can handle now.” My aunt scurried up the path to the cottage hospital.

  “Handle what? Why did the Baron call you and why are we heading to the hospital?” The Baron was my sister’s pet name for her beau, Chief Inspector Dave Lovington.

  “To talk with its latest guest!” Cindy paused momentarily outside the main entrance. The sun rising slowly across the eastern ridge behind her cast a golden sheen over her silver tresses. “Dave suspects it's a suicide, which, of course, is his usual default given what happened to his poor wife.”

  I froze. “Did you just say suicide?” I turned to head back to the comfort of my duvet. “I can’t talk to the dead! I’m going home.”

  Cindy grabbed my fleeing arm and pulled me back. “I think you can. Suicide, accident or murder, this poor child’s spirit will be desperate to have their voice heard. The possibilities to make a connection will be stronger than ever!”

  “Cindy! I’m the local vicar. Church of England. Boring, strait-laced Protestant vibes only. No communing with the dead on my watch. Do you understand?”

  Cindy refused to let go of my arm, no matter how hard I tried to wriggle free. “Come, darling, Dave is already downstairs. I can’t keep him waiting.”

  “Does he know I am joining you for your little seance?” I knew from my aunt's sudden interest in the etched glazing of the hospital door that he did not. “That’s it then, I’m going home.”

  “Don’t you do last rites or something?” she countered.

  “That’s the other lot. The Catholics.” To my aunt, all Christian denominations merged into one. “I’ll offer some prayers of comfort for their family, which I can do at home.”

  Cindy’s hand loosened. “Okay, I understand,” she croaked. A rare tear dropped from her cheek.

  “Aunt, what’s wrong? There’s something you’re not telling me.” I leaned against the door and tried to position myself to see her face better in the half-light.

  “Jess, I can’t do this alone.” My aunt wiped another tear from the end of her nose with her sleeve. “It’s the nature of things. As your power grows, mine weakens. Please come with me. Together, perhaps, we can give Dave some answers. Help him determine the cause of death.”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t understand. There will be an autopsy, right?” The Inspector had warned me off his investigations so many times before. “You know my relationship with Dave is, well, strained. What with him dating my sister, and him being the Chief Inspector, and all the times I’ve gotten involved, even solved his murder cases. I’m not sure he would appreciate my poking about in another mysterious death on the island.” My protests bounced off her unused tears now frozen into a recomposed, more obstinate stare. I had one last salvo in my arsenal. “He called you in. He wants your magical insight, not my nosey beak getting in the way.”

  “She washed up on the same beach,” Cindy replied as if that revelation would counter all the above objections. My continued confusion forced her to carry on. “The same beach they found April on all those years ago.” Maybe it was the lack of sleep, but I was still perplexed. “April? His late wife.”

  “Ah!” The penny finally dropped. “Oh.”

  “Yes.”

  “I see.”

  “Indeed.”

  “Okay,” Darn it! I had no option but to play along. “But for the record, I think this is total madness.”

  “Duly noted.” Cindy reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a small jar of Vicks vapour rub. “Rub some of this under your nose. It will help with the smell.”

  ✽✽✽

  The temporary morgue beneath the Cottage Hospital was, as one would suspect, a sterile white box with strip lighting and several electric air fresheners plugged into the wall sockets. The Inspector was talking to Dr Sam Hawthorne when we arrived. Though Sam was my best friend, I had learnt that she always remained professional whilst on duty. There would be few clues to what she thought of this charade on her public countenance. I would have to wait until later over a drink at the vicarage, when I was sure she would have plenty to say.

  “Cynthia, thank you for coming.” Dave, ever the gentleman, especially to my ethereal maiden aunt, held out his hand to greet hers. He raised her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. His quizzical amber eyes shot a dart to me, then back to my aunt, then to me again. “Ah, Reverend Ward. Er? This is a pleasant surprise.”

  “Dave, darling. Jess is here to help me.” Well, that’s cleared everything up then. “Now, where have you stored this poor soul?”

  Sam levered a silver hinge on the far wall and pulled out a metal gurney. The refrigeration unit pumped out a blast of cold air. I shivered.

  “Are you sure Jess is ready for this?” Dave whispered to my aunt.

  “I have seen dead people before, you know!” I stepped forward in defiance and pulled back the sheet covering the body. But I have never seen a drowned one before! My mouth filled with the remains of yesterday’s aubergine bake. “Excuse me…”

  I don’t remember my best friend following me to the toilet, but I knew it was her pulling at the paper roll and reaching around to wipe my lips.

  “Thank you.” I steadied myself on the pedestal and turned around.

  “That’s what friends are for.” Sam washed her hands. “Not what you expected, eh?”

  “It was just a shock. Do we know who she is? Was?”

  “No idea.” Sam h
it the button on the electronic dryer. “There was no I.D. on the body,” she shouted over the hot air. “The coroner will be here on the first ferry. I don’t really understand what Dishy Dave expects to achieve by calling in your aunt, or you. I didn’t see that coming.”

  “Cindy says her powers are weakening, and she needs me.” I splashed my face with cold water and caught my weary reflection in the mirror. “I’m not sure what she expects me to do.”

  Sam in true ‘jolly hockey sticks’ style slapped my back “Game on then. Let’s find out!”

  The second time around, I kept the contents of my stomach where they belonged. Sam explained that from the state of decomposition, the victim had been in the water a day or two at most. “Without an autopsy, I can’t confirm how she died, but there is a lot of damage to her body, which suggests she met with some rocks or a boat’s motor on the way to the shore. But I can confirm she’s female, probably in her twenties.”

  “Jess, we will take a hand each and see what we can see.” Cindy gathered the corpse’s right hand in both palms and closed her eyes. I took what remained of her left wrist and fingers, noting the lack of thumb. There’s no thumb! Swallowing hard on a heady mix of cold air and vapour rub, I quietened my mind.

  “Helen.” Cindy softly whispered, “No, apologies, her name is Ellen. Ellen Finley?”

  “Findlay,” I answered. “Ellen Findlay.”

  Oh my goodness! Her voice was in my head. Young. Scottish. Scared.

  “She was on a boat. A yacht.”

  “Maybe a boat in the Regatta.” Dave’s trusty pencil scratched in his notebook.

  “There are lots of little lights dotted around. I can hear the water lapping at the side of the boat.” The dark harbour bobbed in the distance. There was a faint sound of music from a nearby yacht. Echoes of distant conversations. “It must be the Regatta.”

  “What boat are they on?” Dave asked.

  Cindy replied. “She can’t remember. It was an old-fashioned name. A woman’s name.”

  “Not a great help.” He muttered, “People often name their boats after women.” Dave grew frustrated. “Anything else? Was it an accident?”

  “She’s not sure. She can’t remember. There are lots of loud bangs. Fireworks? She’s frightened.” Fear gripped my heart. “Am I dead? She doesn’t know she’s dead!” I snatched my hands away.

  Cindy leaned over Ellen’s body and pulled herself close. “It’s time, darling child. Time to move on. Walk towards the light, my dear.” Taking a deep breath, Cindy straightened herself up. “Sam, do you have any hand sanitiser?”

  ✽✽✽

  Breakfast back at the vicarage was a sombre affair. Mum had recently completed the sale of her house and most of her boxed belongings, and much of her furniture, bulged from every room on the ground floor awaiting its new home. Rosie was planning to take some of it to the cottage on Love Lane, and the rest would move with Mum to her new house. She had found a cute bungalow off the Wesberrey Road with a garden that backed straight onto the beach. Until she had finalised all the paperwork on that purchase, and the agents handed over the keys, it would be like living in a junk shop. Our collective nerves were fraying. Talk of dead bodies in the morgue did little to cheer us up.

  “I’ll be honest,” Dave piped in over a plate of vegetarian sausages, eggs and mushrooms, “I had hoped for more concrete evidence to go on.”

  “You have her name. Surely that’s a start.” Lack of sleep and ghosts talking in my head had ruined my normal chirpy mood. I couldn’t eat. Instead, I cradled the largest mug of coffee I could muster. Enforced socialising with an ungrateful officer-of-the-law was at the bottom of my To-do list. Talking to the recently deceased was a whole new level of weirdness, and I needed some alone time to compute what had happened.

  “The name of the boat would help. Are you both sure she didn’t remember?” Dave stirred sugar into his coffee. Sugar! No one who respects the java bean adds sugar! I was so happy to have moved on from the ridiculous crush I had on him when we first met. My sister was welcome to him and his coffee adulterating ways.

  “Dave, darling. The poor girl had a traumatic experience, bless her. I wish I could help you more. But she had to go. There was nothing else she could tell us. I felt, though, that she recognised the name.” Cindy was so serene, so matter of fact about what had just happened. I doubted I would ever accept this mumbo-jumbo calmly. “Did you pick up on that, Jess?”

  “There were two names. And, yes. I think it was familiar to her somehow.” Listen to me! I need to get away! I took this marker in the conversation to make good my escape. “If I think of anything else, I will tell you straight away, but I have to get to work. Lots to do to prepare for the wedding of the century on Saturday. I don’t have the time to sit around. I will pray for her loved ones in my study. I’m sure Mum will look after you all.”

  Settled behind my mahogany desk, I put in a call to the Boss. Prayer has always been my greatest comfort. In the past six months, I had sought its refuge more and more. Returning to Wesberrey and learning about my pagan roots had challenged my faith. Discovering I had these mystical powers, derived from generation upon generation of family goddess protectors, challenged my sanity. Now, it seemed, I could talk to the dead! This latest development would take some time to process. If I were alive in the seventeenth century, I would burn myself at the stake.

  I had half-accepted I could sense stuff, feel events, relive the trauma, and so on. But to hear Ellen Findlay’s thoughts in my mind as clearly as if they were my own? That was a whole new level.

  The past six months had brought so much change. I felt a little overwhelmed by it all. Now wasn’t the time to lose the plot, though. My parish secretary, Barbara Graham, was soon to become Mrs Phil Vickers. The big day was on Midsummer’s Eve, and the countdown had begun. The parish was pulling out all the stops to give its favourite couple a wonderful day. As the central coordinator for their impending nuptials, my diary for the week was fit to bursting. The last thing I needed was to get involved in another mysterious death.

  Norma Jean Baker

  The sun blazed through leafy boughs as I made my way down to the Cliff Railway. I could have taken Cilla, my wonderful orange scooter, but that would mean stuffing my head into a tight helmet and, as it was such a glorious day, I wanted to feel the gentle breeze through my hair. It also provided the perfect excuse to touch base with my churchwardens, Tom and Ernest, who I knew would be volunteering on the morning shift.

  “Our suits arrived yesterday! Ernest looks so handsome in his. Trims the tummy area down, a well-fitted waistcoat, don’t you find, Reverend.”

  “I guess it does, Tom. One blessing as a vicar is that chasubles are very flattering. I was planning on wearing the white Holy Spirit one, from my Welcome Service.”

  “Excellent choice. Have you seen the bride’s gown yet? Barbara is keeping it very close to her chest.” Tom punched my ticket and handed it to me as I stepped across the metal threshold, pulling the funicular railway’s burgundy and gold cabin doors closed behind me.

  “No, it’s the best kept secret in town. My sister, Zuzu, has been helping her with the fittings. Apparently, they think little of my sense of fashion and have not sought my opinion.”

  Tom cast his expert sartorial eye over my black blouse and cardigan combo and nodded in agreement. “Wise decision, no offence, Reverend.” He pressed a button. Metal churned, and the cabin started on its creaky descent to the other station on Harbour Parade. The view of the bay was spectacular. The early morning sun glinted on the blue water. The air was so clear I could see to Oysterhaven and the countryside beyond. On the distant horizon, I could make out the medieval spire of Stourchester Cathedral.

  My thoughts turned to poor Ellen Findlay. She couldn’t have been thirty years old, if that. It was hard to tell from what remained of her body, but her voice was young. Such a tragedy. What had happened on board that ship? Boat? Yacht? We had little to go on except her name. The most frus
trating thing about this ‘gift’ is that one never gets all the answers, only fragments. Ellen couldn’t tell me what she didn’t know. Was her death the result of an accident? She didn’t sound drunk. But do ghosts stay drunk? Landing in the cold water must have sobered her up. So would dying, I should think. Jess listen to yourself! You sound stark staring crazy! The thud of the car arriving at the harbour platform bumped me back to reality.

  “Good morning, Reverend Ward. It’s a truly fine summer’s day, isn’t it? And the forecast is for more of the same for the next fortnight. Bodes well for the upcoming nuptials,” Ernest greeted me with an uncharacteristic sunny deposition. His general mood had been less serious of late. Probably this was due to probate finally being granted on Lord Somerstone’s estate and the last arrangements of the will settled. “I understand your sister, Rosie, is opening her new shop at the end of the month. I’m sure it will be very successful. She has a good head for business, that young lady.”

  “Yes, she has.” I replied, “There has been so much to sort out, what with the move into the cottage and everything. Thankfully, she is taking a lot of Mum’s furniture with her. You wouldn’t believe how crowded the vicarage is right now.”

  “I expect you will be happy to get the house back to yourself again, though I dare say you will miss having your mother’s home-cooked meals.” Ernest was right. I craved peace and solitude, but the thought of having to fend for myself again was an unwelcome prospect. I was sure the vicarage would remain the main family gathering place, but the days of coming back from work to a warm plate of delicious food and a clean house were numbered. Rosie and Luke moved into the cottage on Love Lane last week. Zuzu and the Baron were renting an apartment in the trendy, and expensive, marina overlooking Stone Quay, and soon Mum would be gone too. It would be just me and the cat - Hugo. I was convinced he would rather be with anyone else.